Dawn struggled hard, but only managed to change the clouds from black to silver-grey. The Metzelers crackled on the dewy grass as the Guzzi was pushed towards my front gate. I didn’t want to cause any more early morning disturbance than necessary.

The fuel taps made a pleasantly mechanical click as they were turned open. Then the choke lever. I swung my left leg over the low saddle and flicked on the ignition. Two quick twists of the throttle squirted neat fuel from the 36 mm Dell’Ortos into the motor. This technique had given the Guzzi first-spin starting before.

I reached across the frame with my left hand because the starter button was too far from my right thumb when the heavy throttle was held open. As soon as I pushed the starter button the massive electromagnetic clutch on the starter motor drove the pinion home with a heavy clunk and the car-size starter motor began winding the 850 over.

It fired immediately and as soon as it had stopped its rump-hiss-stumble-rump I switched on the headlight and pressed down on the gearlever. The clutch needed adjustment, so for first gear I had to feed gentle pressure on the pedal, ease the clutch lever out until the motor started to drag and then pull it home as the box dropped into first.

Through my front gate, immediately into second, reached down and flicked off the easiest of all chokes in the motorcycle world, back to first for the hard left-hander at the end of my street, then up the steep one-in-four climb, left again onto the Victoria Road, then to the west.

Motorcycle journalists tend to place bikes in neat little pigeon holes. This bike is a commuter, that bike is a sportster, the other is a cafe racer. Today was going to be different. I was country bound on a bike I’d already ridden around town.

The Moto Guzzi Le Mans is different. It defies pigeon holes. Bikes in the Sportster hole, bikes in the Cafe Racer hole — all waiting for comparison. A person who buys a Guzzi gathers the money together and buys a Guzzi. At no stage does a BMW or a Ducati enter the picture. Certainly not a Japanese machine.

At last, beyond the urban sprawl climbing to Kurrajong. Tight corners with cautious 35 km/h speed signs disappeared behind my 80 km/h elbow with the gearbox singing between second and third, and always above 4000 rpm. The rump became a grumble and the grumble became a growl and the noise was all mine as the Guzzi’s huge mufflers kept the exhaust from waking sleepers in the few houses along the road. The noise began in the carburettors and resounded from the pipes, and also from the angled cylinders just under my chin.

Cranking into faster corners as speed signs and fun-killing fines fell behind, the ache in my right wrist gave way to a slow, sustained charge of adrenalin. Speedo ignored. Just keeping an eye on the tacho to hold the revs between 4000 and 6000 rpm. The Metzelers told me how fast to ride, through the seat of my jeans, and the gentle harmony on throttle, clutch and gear lever wound up and down with the road’s magnificent curves.

The township of Bell is really a junction of the Mt Victoria road, and boasts two road­houses – one for traffic going west, the other for those heading east. Nothing else. Shortly after 8am I grumbled back through the gears and pulled into the roadhouse and garage.

With the tank again brimful, I took time out for a breather and to think about the Guzzi. The refill showed that the fuel consumption for the city running and the spirited ride to Bell was almost 15 km/l (around 43 mpg).

Then there was the feeling that everything I’d experienced since the Guzzi first fired that morning had existed in only a fraction of a second. Like a dream on waking. Complex, exciting, incredibly fast, relaxed, surefooted, precise and memorable, but living in my senses not my memory.

At around $4500 you’d hardly expect people to queue outside Burling and Simmonds on Sydney’s Parramatta Road for the Guzzi Le Mans. Yet Norm Burling was chuckling when we collected the test bike. He’d sold enough that month to justify his faith in the Moto Guzzi brand. Times were good. Yet it isn’t the kind of bike you see parked with a thousand others in a city car park or joining the rat race from the city in the evening.

The Guzzi Le Mans 850 is one of the two best looking bikes in the world, I reckon. The other is the Ducati 750 SS. The Guzzi is undeniably masculine. Its appearance stops crowds, makes other motorcyclists bleat a short word of praise and it makes people who know and care nothing about motorcycles stop and engage in conversation. It is sublimely beautiful and yet, for all this, it is a fake.

The engine, so they say, was born for a snowmobile or small military personnel carrier or some other nondescript purpose. It is a heavy, rugged, almost unburstable engine. There isn’t a single stroke of imaginative genius to please the purist or excite the dreamer. The cylinders are spaced 90 degrees apart and pushrods open the valves. Huge 36 mm Dell’Ortos feed the conventional cylinder heads and the exhaust pipes sweep gracefully down to the lower frame rail where they gently rise into the massive, efficient, black painted mufflers. It has conventional points ignition and a brilliant, precise headlight. It also has the biggest battery since Mack trucks gave up crank starters.

The battery needs to be big because there’s no kick starter and the engine can be irritable when it’s hot. A smaller battery would expire, and so would rider confidence. Bump starting an 850 could prove a problem. In city traffic it doesn’t bear thinking about.

A horn nestles above the generator in the Vee looking as though it’s made for a 1925 Indian or some such oldie. Bolted to a left­side casting hangs a car-size starter motor, complete with a magnetic clutch engagement on top. Connected by a tiny, but adjustable, rod the gear lever operates a flimsy control emerging from the rear of the gearbox. But it feels very strong. Appearances can be deceiving.

A light lever pulls the car-type dry-plate clutch apart with a smoothness rarely experienced on a motorcycle. It allows the pulsating twin, with its off-beat low-rev feeling, to feed power to the shaft drive without snatching or spinning.

On the right-hand side, the foot-brake lever is connected to another adjustable thin rod which disappears behind a plastic cover. Removing the cover reveals a master cylinder with a single high-pressure line crossing the frame to the left shock-absorber diagonal member. Here a proportioning valve distributes the fluid to the front left disc and the rear disc. The front right disc is operated only by the handlebar lever.

However odd this system may seem on paper its true worth can only be appreciated after time in the saddle. It’s possible to use the brake pedal hard in the wet on dubious surfaces without the back wheel taking its own line or the front falling away. Normally the balance is 70 percent to the rear and 30 percent to the front. Apart from a slight steering reaction at low speed, the system works so well it makes a mockery of conventional arrangements. Like all non-cosmetic disc brake systems, the Guzzi uses cast iron discs which rust.

Who gives a twopenny damn! They work. Wet and dry.

Pedal and lever pressure is high by Japanese standards, but this increases the pressure difference between gentle stopping and eyeballs-out panic stops. The amount of braking control is very reassuring.

First gear will run to almost 80 km/h before the tacho needle leaves the yellow and starts into the red. Second runs to more than 110 km/h and third to almost 150. In fourth the red line comes into view at about 190 km/h and fifth is anyone’s guess.

The gearbox shows the non-motorcycle background on the Guzzi powerplant and refuses to flat change without the clutch unless gear-crunching is ignored. The gear­box hates changing below 4000 rpm and the second to third shift is often lumpy. At first, this appeared to be a peculiarity of the test bike, but other Guzzi owners have con­firmed the same behaviour. However, treated well, with patience and precision, the gear­box is a delight.

Ten years ago Two Wheels predicted disc brakes and we were right. Today, we predict shaft drive. The benefits far outweigh the few minor disadvantages like rear-end rise under hard acceleration and power induced wobbles for those foolish enough to change gear mid-corner.

As a complete engine/transmission unit, the Guzzi has nothing new to offer. It is well built and dull. But where the Guzzi shines is in the features which can’t be measured. Sounds and vibrations ignored or exorcised as undesirable in Japanese bikes thrive on the Guzzi.

The Guzzi is delightfully free from balance shafts and contra-rotating components designed to make the engine as smooth as a marketing manager’s handshake. The Guzzi shakes and rumbles and reacts violently to throttle changes with hisses and gurgles. The engine reacts strongly when the throttle is blipped and it will tilt the bike if the engine is accelerated hard mid-corner. The only time the engine reaction intrudes on day-to-day life is trickling to a halt at traffic lights after a hard run. The 1500 rpm idle is so slow (when you’re accustomed to four pre-smoothed cylinders) that a few quick twists of the throttle are added to keep the fires alight.

Not only is this unnecessary, but also it causes side-to-side reaction and the bike can weave a little off-line. It may only be a few centimetres, but it can be enough to destroy the super-cool image of a Guzzi in traffic.

There’s vibration and there’s vibration. Some bikes vibrate and the feeling is harsh and progressive. From 4000 rpm the Guzzi becomes so smooth you’d swear it was a Four. This may be psychological (because it is rough at idle) but the engine feel and vibes that filter through the five contact points (hands, feet and bum) are a positive delight. Vibration on the Moto Guzzi is like rediscovering the delights of a childhood sweetheart on the same patch of grass behind the old barn. It’s slightly naughty, contributes to the passionate noise and isn’t very scientific, but it’s something of the soul of the bike.

The suspension is a part of the frame is part of the balance is part of the suspension. It all goes in circles. Though the suspension isn’t faultless, it’s aided by a very heavy engine mounted low to keep the C of G down near the axles. The frame is tight and free of flex and this allows the suspension to get on with the business of suspending. The dampers absorb harsh road irregularities well and the variable rate rear springs progressively load up on poor surfaces. No road surface (or pothole) could cause the Guzzi suspension to smash a karate chop from the rear. Only once did the suspension answer back to me.

On that occasion a 35 km/h corner was approached in second gear. The signpost was horribly conservative and we hammered through at almost 100 km/h with the engine sounding decidedly busy. For the sake of a peaceful motor, I changed to third gear just while bringing the bike up from the leaningest part of the turn. Revs dropped and the torque reaction sent the machine snaking across the full width of the lane. The reaction, however violent, wasn’t terminal and the bike had no intention of dealing out punishment, just a firm warning. It had been the wrong thing to do at that time and place, and the Guzzi thought so too.

Italian style says the overall symmetry of the Guzzi couldn’t be upset by a rounded saddle, so it gets a self-skinned foam seat that is about as comfortable as a fakir’s bed of nails. Looks great, sits awful. As a concession to large families, the Guzzi will carry a pillion passenger. This doesn’t upset the suspension, but it will certainly upset the passenger, perched high above the earth while sitting on a few sponge rubber Kleenex. It is impossible to have attractively raked mufflers without pushing the pillion pegs too high and it isn’t possible to have a saddle that is a work of art without reducing comfort to a minimum. Short distances are okay, but a pillion should be carried only when it is absolutely essential.

Like when the buses and trains have stopped running.

Italian switches won’t bother a Guzzi rider. The turning indicator switch is amazingly light and a gloved thumb can spend all day correcting mistakes. Switch the indicators off and you’re almost certain to send them blinking in the opposite direction. The heavy twist grip causes wrist ache and as the throttle has to be cracked for hot or cold starts, the correct procedure is to use the left hand on the starter button. Switchgear isn’t up to Japanese standard, but it is lightweight and unobtrusive.

The relative density of the machine (it is light, but very compact), the superbly predictable suspension and handling, the safe and reassuring brakes and the relaxed and very fast gait of the engine add up to danger for a road tester. It takes time to become accustomed to the Moto Guzzi. And it then takes even more time to become unaccustomed to it. Stepping off the Guzzi and on to an ordinary machine can lead to some horrendous near-misses.

Imagine a freshly wet city road, a red traffic light, 60 km/h and stamping on the foot brake pedal. Y’see what I mean? On the Guzzi, that’s the way it’s done. On anything else, that would be a short-cut to disaster.

Owner servicing and maintenance don’t present any problems because the Guzzi isn’t exotic. There’s no rare alloys or a multitude of cams and shims and rows of pernickety carburettors. The toolkit has everything needed for owner servicing and it is outlined in the well-written handbook. We checked through the procedure and didn’t have to run off and find another spanner or Allen key. The toolkit also has a large C-spanner for adjusting the pre-load on the rear shock absorbers. There isn’t room for anything else under the saddle except perhaps a pack of chewing gum.

Under-saddle space is limited by the tiny plastic tool holder and the fact that the saddle, rear guard and light are made in one piece and swing back together. This means the saddle can be lifted only a short way before the guard touches the tyre. Removing the huge battery wouldn’t be easy.

Removing the engine isn’t hard as the frame dismantles at the front and rear. The bottom two rails can be lifted with the engine when it is dropped out. This method doesn’t seem to affect frame rigidity at all.

Guzzi’s maker, Alessandro de Tomaso, is a delightful visionary. Obviously he isn’t surrounded by marketing experts, popular stylists and accountants. With the arrogance of all truly great vehicle makers, he’s gone his own way for years. If the public likes what he makes, he succeeds. If it doesn’t he fails. The Guzzi Le Mans feels like one man’s ideal. If you don’t share his dreams and aspirations, you won’t understand the bike, let alone appreciate it.

But, if you read the same books and drink the same wine and believe in the same gods, then the Guzzi will liberate your soul.

If all this sounds like so much rabid hogwash, take a look at a Guzzi Le Mans brochure sometime. It is a four-page fold­apart. The front page has a full-frontal shot of the Le Mans with the words “Moto Guzzi 850 Le Mans”. Open the brochure and you see a double-page colour pic of the machine with the words “Moto Guzzi 850 Le Mans integral brake (patented)”. Hiding on the back page is another five color detail pictures with a few poorly chosen words. Phrases like “Safety was the chief design factor … ” and ” … could only be produced by Master Craftsmen” and “We hope you will enjoy the unlimited sporting machine from Moto Guzzi”. There isn’t much information on the brochure because a Le Mans owner isn’t going to be drawn into conversation about acceleration and overhead cams and the number of carburettors.

Perhaps the slight grammatical inconsistency in the last line quoted is correct – “We hope you will enjoy” not “Buy the Guzzi and you will enjoy” or, “Consider a Guzzi and we’re sure you will enjoy”.

It is almost as though Moto Guzzi assumes, if you’ve picked up a brochure, you’ve already decided to buy.

The eccentric genius of Guzzi can be best seen by the new 250 four recently announced. Alessandro de Tomaso doesn’t really care if the 254 doesn’t sell in millions. He had the bike built because it was what he always wanted.

If you have read this far and noticed a trace of enthusiasm, don’t let it affect your judgement. The Le Mans is a machine you want, or you don’t want. There’s no middle course. If someone convinces you to buy an 850 Le Mans, or if you’ve compared the others (and there aren’t many), you’re bound to be disappointed.

I’ll probably never own a Le Mans. I don’t know that I could. Instead, I’ll sit and dream of that early morning ride to Bathurst. Dream of the faces on tourists leaning off an overloaded 450 twin Honda, of the unutterably snobbish feeling that came over me when I parked the Guzzi next to a Triumph chopper at Mount Lambie roadhouse, of another Le Mans rider travelling fast in the opposite direction, and of his knowing smile…

Two Wheels, October 1978

The Horniest Sportster

Moto Guzzi’s factory at Mandello in Italy features a museum that displays more than half a century of motorcycling genius and contains the story of the mighty Italian company that once held the world breathless with advanced design and excellence of quality engineering.

Moto Guzzi was able to outstride its competitors on the race track, relaying competitive prowess to domestic machines with great success. From the outset the name Guzzi made itself known in competition.

On the shores of Lake Como at Mandello del Lario in 1921 the first Guzzis came into being.

As far back as 1924, Moto Guzzi built a 500 with four overhead valves. Just six years later came a transverse four-cylinder 500 with supercharging. Developments came thick and fast … sometimes too fast, like in ’55 when the VS Guzzi was conjured up against threats by Gilera and Agusta. That bike was capable of 265.5 km/h (165 mph) — unreal for its day although its full potential was never explored.

In 1957 the inevitable happened and the tradition started by Carlo Guzzi and Giorgio Parodi in 1921 ended when the company pulled out of GP racing. And the disappointment of the decision was followed almost immediately by further troubles when the slump of the ’60s struck.

But the Italian government provided financial support, an impetus for new developments. In the early ’60s the demand for a lightweight torquey engine to be used in a military scout car gave rise to the transverse V-twin, the forerunner of today’s Guzzi powerplant, and it was 1966 when Guzzi’s 700 cm3 V7 touring motorcycle appeared on the streets.

The combination of the V-twin powerplant and shaft drive plus the strength of Guzzi’s reputation of reliability assured the success of the new venture and it was natural that the engine be enlarged to suit the demand. The 850T and California models were produced to satisfy the touring brigade while the S3 750 sportster maintained just a little of Guzzi’s lost racing image.

And just when we were thinking real sports motorcycles had left us, Guzzi lays on the Le Mans 850 and blows our minds.

The Le Mans is a sports motorcyclists’ sports motorcycle, much more so than the sporty-looking S3. It’s the ton standing still. Bikini fairing, low clip-ons, racing style seat … if you want it that way. If not, try a bigger tank and dual seat. Then take your choice of a standard close-ratio gearbox or even closer, straight-cut gears, several final drive ratios and — the piece de resistance to make this sportster stand out from the rest — a real, live race-kit. Cams, pipes, bigger carbs … lotsa good gear. Sure, the race kit will make the machine almost unrideable in general traffic, but it’s really nice to know that you can at least get the good bits if you want them.

The machine that Peter Stevens Motorcycles offered us to run-in was fitted out with the smaller of the two tank sizes (a 25 litre fibreglass tank can replace the standard 22.5 litre steel tank), had the racing-style single seat, the wider ratio gearbox and very high gearing – but not the highest available. So, no race kit on this one but our test bike would still be, as is, a very competitive production race machine.

There’s an exciting thing about the Le Mans’ looks. The 90 degree transverse V-twin engine doesn’t look at all as cobby as it appears on the 850T and 1000 Automatic tourers. The factory has created a horny, artistic weapon.

Ducati’s 900 and 750SS models look beautiful. The Guzzi Le Mans Guzzi is gggggrowlingly horny.

The power delivery matches the look. The factory boasts 81 horses. That’s debatable, but in truth it is extremely quick. And to match the speed, the handling is superb.

When Guzzi introduced the integral braking system on the 1000 auto, it appeared in keeping with the limousine qualities of the machine, but I had doubts about the acceptability of the system on the Le Mans. Early-on in the test I still had doubts. The rear disc brake and the left side front disc are operated by the foot lever and the right side disc up front by the handlebar lever. A U-turn on a road covered in gravel was taken with utmost care. Where in normal use the rear brake would offer a slight steadying factor it was worrying that the front brake was also operating. Would the front wheel skid?

We were quickly satisfied about the efficiency of the claimed 70 percent rear and 30 percent front braking potential of the foot lever. On a gravel road a really hard stomp was needed for wheel lock-up. Even then, it was the back wheel. Felt more confident after that little test!

The only styling area that didn’t turn me on straight away with the Le Mans was the seat/tank overlap arrangement. But it didn’t take long before I developed a liking for the design. The knees tucking into the padding is comfy and makes you feel part of the machine.

Quite often testers of sports motorcycles find it difficult to assimilate to a riding position like that of the Le Mans. Assuredly, it’s “no compromise”, but being used to a road-racing machine probably helps me fit in. It’s a natural crouch to assume on such a racy vehicle anyway. The pegs are a compromise between rearsets and ordinaire and a nice compromise for general riding.

The Guzzi is made even racier by its compactness. Height is around 8 cm below most bikes in its class … that’s low. Even people with bums low to the ground who’d be tippy-toeing on most bikes can sit astride, feet flat on the ground.

And it’s true the whole machine does wonders for one’s ego. The only other bike on which I felt so superior was the MV Agusta America. The MV is a super pose machine, in addition to being a bloody good motorbike. But it lacks the raw, growling appeal of the Guzzi.

The only other real competitor to the Le Mans is Ducati’s SS and the Duke looks slightly pleb alongside the Guzzi, too neat and lacking brutal appeal.

True, a person lacking the conceptual ability to recognise brutal beauty may regard the Le Mans in a not so shining light. The bulky 26 mm Dell’Orto carbies protruding in an ungainly manner may not be particularly appealing. But the carbies, sans filtering, fitted merely with a mesh wire to stop rocks being gulped, add to the ruggedness of the overall design.

But ruggedness does not refer to the manner in which the Guzzi is built. On the contrary! The production concept of a machine that has grabby looks but is still super functional has worked brilliantly. And we’d expect those carbies to be filtered soon. Intake noise is tremendously loud, even compared with the exhaust system! With the full-face helmet on you can still hear the big carbies sucking in horses.

Taking the superiority stance (sitting astride) the Le Mans and looking down at the instrument panel is a surprise. Immediately in your vision is a big, black line obscuring vision. That’s the trimming on the bikini fairing — a nice touch, but a bit of a nuisance, depending of course on the rider’s natural seating position.

Had a little trouble with the control switches – the fact they they’re pretty different is probably the reason. I don’t particularly like the way the light switch swivels round the handlebar and I can’t see the reason for a “lock” position on it. All else is acceptable.

Even though our test bike had the single seat, passenger pegs are fitted. A pillion rider can actually sit up on the back section and the rider can be reasonably comfortable shoved up front, but not recommended for long trips. The height of the passenger pegs would make the pillion reasonably uncomfortable even if a dual seat was fitted.

But this isn’t meant as a two-up tourer. It’s a selfish, get-on-and-go­for-a-blap unit. Forget about everyone else and everything else and get out there and turn up the wick.

One wouldn’t dare wear anything but good bikin’ gear on the Guzzi, but you’ve got to negotiate a deal of traffic before you get to blap territory.

A flip up, on-off choke lever demands use when starting the Guzzi from cold. Hit the starter button and the most outstanding sound is from the carbies. The exhausts are quiet, very quiet.

Flip off the choke and the V-twin settles down to a nice idle. Blip the throttle and the centrifugal force sways the machine. The high gearing on the test machine does make it reasonably unsuitable for city go-to-working. However, in tight traffic it misses the awkward situation on some other bikes that leaves you the choice of either rang-a-dang-danging in first or changing into second where the power band is lost. It doesn’t occur with the Guzzi. You can belomp along (but watch the clutch on takeoff) and keep it in first without excessive tacho numbers.

The heavier-than-usual clutch operation does annoy a bit when you are faced with continual stop/start riding. Clutch slip is needed to counter the high gearing and blast away from the tin-tops, but gear changes are not particularly slick, just average.

After several kilometres of trafficking you’re looking for a freeway to ride beyond two gears. It’s a relief to find a 100 km limit to get moving along a little. Third gear finds you at the limit at comfortable revs and a change to fourth is little above idling. Fifth is almost labouring. Wow!

Speed up a little … and I began immediately to doubt the accuracy of the speedo. There I was sitting right on 100 and cars were getting by with reckless abandon. Increase to 120 to stay with them. Allow them being 10 or so over the limit and the speedo appears optimistic. Ignore this minor revelation and start to enjoy the machine …

At last, the wide open spaces!

Get going quick and you’ll see why the Guzzi is such a mind-flipping machine. Attack the fast sweepers and you’re doing the best any road bike is capable of. Lean into the bumpy stuff and the Le Mans stays right where you want it. Absolutely magnificent. Fly up to a tight bend, pressure the foot brake — along with a touch of brake lever — and you’re knocking off speed in the quickest and safest manner that you could possibly imagine. If you get into strife, it’s rider error.

I had the speedo showing 210 km/h in a relatively short stretch and the Guzzi was still pulling. The factory quotes 210 as the maximum so the reading is obviously optimistic. Even still, the Guzzi certainly ate 180 km/h genuine as if on a Sunday cruise. And that on a relatively bumpy road! The Guzzi was rock-steady. No weaving or bobbing, just pure, full-control blasting.

A satisfying thing about the Guzzi is that it feels unbreakable. The V-twins have a one-piece crank and plain bearings, pressure fed by a gear driven oil pump. The bore and stroke for the ohv unit is 83x78mm with the compression ratio upped from the touring 850’s 9.2 to 10.2:1. The Le Mans’ powerplant is a fine combination of strength and performance, an achievement, I suppose, expected from Guzzi, but one most other builders outside Europe just cannot match.

The bike is available in two colour schemes, red and black or a bluish silver and black, with black exhausts and a day-glo type section on the fairing surrounding the headlight. It all looks quite startling. The lighting is adequate but a safer bet with a QH light fitted. Tail and stop lights are quite good, the rear lamp being fitted into the moulded rear plastic mudguard very neatly.

All things in perspective, the Guzzi is a fantastic performance, reliability and safety package, built for the man who likes his bike to do everything well without compromise. The price will ensure that every Tom, Dick and Harry doesn’t have one. Try around $4000 for size!

By Col Murray. Two Wheels, May 1977

Falloon: The Classic View

The mid-1970s was a halcyon time for the Italian motorcycle industry with all the major manufacturers producing class-leading sporting machines. Determined not to be outdone by Ducati, Laverda, and MV Agusta, in 1975 Moto Guzzi released their spectacular 850 Le Mans.

Although derived from the existing 750 S and 750 S3 the Le Mans was faster and more stylish. With its cast alloy wheels, seat partly covering the fuel tank and small fairing with orange “Day-Glo” front section, the Le Mans established a new order emphasising style over function.

For the 850 Le Mans Moto Guzzi’s brilliant engineer Lino Tonti lengthened the stroke of the V7 Sport 750cc engine to 78mm and with 83mm pistons the displacement was 844cc. Most of the performance boost over the 750 S3 came from the cylinder head, with larger valves, higher (10.2:1) compression ratio, and a pair of Dell’Orto 36mm carburettors breathing through velocity stacks.

The high domed pistons increased performance, but cylinder flame propagation was inferior and the Le Mans engine was prone to detonation and running hot. To improve throttle response the Le Mans also had a thinner and lighter flywheel. Another update was to the exhaust system. Painted matt black to complement the rest of the styling, this featured single-walled 40 mm header pipes, with a balance pipe across the front of the engine. Although quiet and efficient, the main problem with the exhaust system was the black paint wasn’t very durable and rusted prematurely. The claimed power for the Le Mans was 80 horsepower at 7300 rpm, but this was an optimistic claim.

Like the engine, the 850 Le Mans chassis was also quite similar to the 750 S3. The 35mm cartridge front fork included thinner walled tubes and the S3’s light alloy Borrani rims made way for cast alloy FPS wheels, still with the same WM3 rim sizes (2.15×18 inch).

The Le Mans also featured the integrated braking system of the 750 S3 with Brembo 08 calipers, two drilled 300mm front discs and a 242mm rear disc. These brakes were extremely effective, and certainly amongst the best available in 1975. Although the 198kg dry weight was considerable for a sporting motorcycle, and the 1470mm wheelbase moderate, the Le Mans was densely packaged and extremely compact.

But the raison d’être for the Le Mans was really about style more than performance. During the mid-1970s many European manufacturers saw the factory café racer as a way of countering the threat of cheaper, faster and continually improving Japanese motorcycles. BMW started the trend with their ground-breaking R90S at the end of 1973, Norton followed with the John Player 850 of 1974, and in 1976 Ducati decided to put their limited edition 900 Super Sport into regular production.

But none of these were as successful stylistic creations as the Le Mans. The Le Mans may have suffered from marginal execution and indifferent quality, but more than any other motorcycle it epitomizes the mid to late 1970s café racer style. And unlike some other deliberately styled motorcycles, the Le Mans has stood the test of time.

The Le Mans was the right bike at the right time, offering similar performance to the Ducati 900 SS and Laverda 1000 3C, in a more civilised package. Tonti’s magnificent frame was still more than up to the task of harnessing the power of the 90-degree V-twin and the Le Mans remained one of the best handling motorcycles available. With the excellent integral Brembo braking system it was hard to find a better-balanced all-round sporting motorcycle and the inclusion of an electric start and shaft final drive made it easy to live with.

The Le Mans was a class-leading machine, and it had the looks to match. One of the great sporting motorcycles of the mid to late 1970s, the Le Mans was and still is a masterpiece.

Five Things about the Le Mans

1. The idea for an 844 cc twin began back in 1971 when Jan Kampen in Holland built an 810 cc racer for the Zandvoort six-hour race. Kampen was in regular communication with Lino Tonti at Moto Guzzi and Tonti decided to build an 844 cc racer based on the V7 Sport.

2. Kampen had access to the University of Delft test bench and tested 65 exhaust systems. Tonti commissioned Lafranconi to build the final exhaust system, this becoming the standard aftermarket Le Mans exhaust.

3. Moto Guzzi entered two 844cc racers in the 1971 Bol d’Or 24-hour endurance race at Le Mans. Mandracci and Brambilla led for more than ten hours before a broken rocker delayed them and they eventually finished third.

4. At the end of 1972 Tonti produced some special V7 Sports as an entry in the “Premio Varrone” design award. These were titled the “Le Mans” and included the patented linked braking system.

5. The real prototype for the production Le Mans was the 850 racer prepared for the 1973 Barcelona 24-hour race. Not suited to the tight Montjuich circuit, the new 850 finished 5th but a post-race strip down convinced Tonti the Le Mans was ready for production. Unfortunately, de Tomaso preferred the Benelli Six to spearhead his sporting line-up and the production of the 850 Le Mans was delayed two years.

By Ian Falloon

Ian Falloon is one of the world’s foremost authorities on classic motorcycles and a prolific author. His Moto Guzzi titles include The Moto Guzzi Sport and Le Mans Bible, The Essential Buyer’s Guide to Moto Guzzi Two Valve Big Twins and The Moto Guzzi Story. You can order copies from Veloce Publishing here.