Laverda’s Street Sleepers

Laverda’s ’70s twins are overshadowed by a certain triple wearing the same badge. But the 500 Alpino and SF750 have their own charm and appeal.

ention ‘Laverda’ to any biker of a certain age, and I’d wager the first word into their head will be ‘Jota’. Marque aficionados or big-twin obsessives might think ‘750 SF’. But surely no one would find ‘Alpino’ leaping first into their consciousness.

The Breganze factory’s twins tend to get lost beneath the mighty shadow of the fire-breathing triple. Think Jota, think ball-breaker. Think 750 SF, think Brit-twin wannabe. Think Alpino, think muesli (if anything at all).

So when I bumped into Andrew Weight at a summer barbie, I was intrigued to hear that he had an example of both Laverda’s twins, primped and ready to ride.

Would they prove to be biking’s equivalent of mad cousins in the attic – genetic errors that Laverda would wish never to acknowledge? Or are we missing a pair of gems here? In fact, both bikes quickly reveal themselves to be victims of the most gross reputational injustice.

These ‘cooking’ road models may lack the eye-searing, drum-bursting blare of their hotter, race-ready counterparts – the ‘Competizione’ SFC 750 and the 500 Montjuic. But as day-to-day rides they offer a better all-round classic experience than many of the most sought-after ’70s machines you might mention (and I’m not only talking about Italian bikes here). Furthermore, the 750 and 500 deliver their riding thrills in utterly different ways.

Nevertheless, some bikes are easy to just walk past. I did it myself when arriving at Andrew’s Sussex farmhouse base. My eyes fixed on the blue SF750 and began logging its neat early-model details, like the Bosch headlamp and Smith’s clocks.

“You’d be better off riding the Alpino first,” advised Andrew. “It’s got its gearshift and brake pedal the Japanese way round.”

Sure thing. Where’s the Alpino? Ah, it’s behind me; even its sharp red paint had failed to tug my sleeve. Never mind, this bike is used to social snubs. It was called the Alpina at its launch in 1977, the change of vowel was forced by BMW, which warned that it owned the trademark on the original name.

This 1980 model was imported from the Netherlands by Andrew, who runs A28 Classics as a hobby-cum-business from his home near Rye. The bike, with 36,000km (22,000 miles) on the clock, has spent 15 years dry-stored in a private collection; Andrew has treated it to a general overhaul and had its rare original Marzocchi shocks rebuilt. It’s details like those five-way adjustable ’zocchis that make the Alpino a bike that rewards savouring. I never thought I’d call an Italian motorcycle entirely vice-free, but the Alpino feels like the boys at Laverda got hold of a bunch of Japanese middleweights, worked out what they did well, then created this machine to do it all better.

The 1977 model has some important improvements over the original. The factory fitted it with a crank-driven balance shaft to dampen vibrations, and high-compression pistons to boost output to around 44bhp at 9500rpm.

It may seem an odd comparison, but rushing the Alpino through the Kent/Sussex countryside kept bringing to mind Honda’s 400/4. It has the same small, square feel when riding, it feels nicely planted and it produces a wonderful howl high up in the rev range, where the motor gets seriously lively.

I wonder how many guys with 400/4s and similar Japanese bikes will ever realise that the bike they really want is one to which they would never give a second thought – a mid-sized Laverda.

The Alpino’s suspension completely trounces the Honda’s. Or that of any Japanese bike of that era. Even on country lanes it manages to give a smooth, jolt-free ride that feels surprisingly un-Italian. But it also keeps the whole plot completely under control when being pushed, which feels rather un-Japanese.

Meanwhile, the 497cc motor has far more midrange than the 400/4 and its ilk; a high-tech whizz for its time, it uses twin overhead camshafts, four valves per cylinder, centrally located spark plugs, a 180° crankshaft, horizontally-split crankcases and wet-sump lubrication. A state-of-the-art six-speed integral gearbox – the first on a non-Japanese production model – feeds the horses to the alloy rear wheel. Reliability is reinforced by Japanese and German electrics, while dual-piston 260mm Brembo discs do a masterful job of restraining the Alpino’s relatively lightweight 175kg (385lb).

All this makes for a bike with an extremely versatile nature. You can ride the Alpino around happily as a relaxed machine, never bothering the upper end of the rev range. Or you can keep it between 6000rpm and the 8000rpm redline, when the bike turns into a narrow-eyed racer, with its muted soundtrack howling through two 32mm Dell’Orto carbs and chromed Lafranconi pipes. The engine sends high-frequency buzzes through the handlebars, though not at an intrusive wavelength.

Roger Slater, of Slater Brothers, had a hand in developing the Alpino S with the Italian factory. He still has fond memories of the original Alpino, saying: “These were always a favourite with me, built like a Swiss watch, light and nimble.”

The bikes were also very well received by the motorcycle press. In Bike magazine in 1978, Graham Sanderson described it as ‘motorcycling in its most pure, exciting and individual sense’. But, as Sanderson predicted, the Alpino never sold in large numbers, not least because of its price – almost twice that of a Honda 400 and on a par with a Suzuki GS1000.

In the end, only approximately 2750 Alpinos were produced, making it rarer than a Jota or 750 SF. That original sales price of £1645 is now equivalent, thanks to inflation, to a modern day £8700. Andrew is asking £4950 for his fine example.

Yet while the Alpino is a well-mannered street sleeper, the 750 SF wears its big, tough heart right on its sleeve. Exhibit one is the noise it makes. It’ll put goosebumps on your goosebumps – a classic Triumph type of sharpness in the blat from the Laverda-branded pipes, combined with a mellowness that makes guys swivel their heads in town and grin.

Onboard, you also get the sound of the square-slide 30mm Dell’Ortos sucking huskily through gaping bellmouths. It’s not only the sound that’s big. From the pilot’s seat, the bike feels like a long unit as it’s quite a reach forward from the humped seat down to the Tomaselli bars, even though they have a bit of raise to them.

At 226kg (500lb) wet, these bikes are heavy. This is testament to the way Laverda used massive fabrication both to absorb vibration and ensure high-speed stamina. The crankshaft itself is massively over-engineered, running on five ball and roller main bearings.

I’m expecting this weighty feel to be reflected in the clutch and throttle, which I fear will require Jota-like heft to operate. But no, they have both been treated to a recent upgrade that has transformed them into objects of lightness and loveliness.

Starting the big old twin is a push-button affair; there’s no kicker to back up the electric start. Even in 1971, Laverda had complete faith in its ability to produce a reliable motorised foot. After all, the firm’s tractors hadn’t been built with hand-cranks for years.

While the Alpino buzzes, the SF feels like it lopes. It can do a leisurely lope or a fast lope, but it never feels frantic. There’s no redline on the tacho, so I’m wondering how hard to push it. The answer it seems, is to rely on your sense of mechanical sympathy and to change up when the vibes start to get harsh.

The fact that the engine bears more than a passing resemblance to Honda’s 305cc overhead cam twin is early evidence of Laverda’s openness to Japanese influence.

Massimo Laverda decided that he could benefit from Honda’s development of the 305, the first production overhead-cam motorcycle engine. Massimo reportedly believed that the visual connection between the Honda and his new bike would link the big Laverda to Honda’s reputation for quality and reliability.

The brakes, though, are pure Italian. In 1970 Laverda introduced the improved SF, which stood for Super Freni or ‘Super Brakes’. Previous 750s had relied on Grimeca stoppers. The new SF used a twin-leading system designed in-house.

Those huge dinner-plates do a great job back and front. I worried initially that the front twin-leading shoe might be scarily grabby, but it’s perfectly set-up and as progressive as a disc. The single-leading shoe rear, meanwhile, has a handy servo effect, the braking increasing exponentially with a harder push.

The fact that the hefty swingarm features a big kink in its lines made me wonder if it was up to the job. The handling on Metzeler Perfect tyres proves to be Latin-sure, though that long wheelbase makes it a challenge on three-pointers – it will also jolt a bit on bumpily fast English country bends. But the big bike will happily make the corners, no worries.

Taking things much more easily, the thrummy vibes through the handgrip actually had a bit of a lullaby effect on me when bimbling along in top gear… hullo clouds… hullo sky.

Like a small number of earlier SF models, this J-registered bike has a Bosch headlight and Smiths clocks with the Laverda name on them. There’s a touch of Italian quirkery, too: the Bosch headlamp has a neat key-as-ignition-and-light-switch combo. Why did that never catch on? Perhaps too many owners left their keys on the bike. The fuel tap, meanwhile, goes backwards for ‘on’ and downwards for ‘off’.

All this style is let down rather, though, by some typical home-grown jamboree-bag quality Italian switchgear.

This particular bike has been lovingly restored and maintained.  It was restored in Italy in 2005, since when its original red paint was changed to a slightly metallic blue. It’s an original Laverda colour and looks wonderful. 

“These bikes were originally made to a very high level of quality. It’s just the quality of this build, compared to a contemporary Triumph, that made it special,” reckons Andrew. “There’s a reason why Laverda went out of business, and that’s because they over-engineered their bikes.”

Of the lowly 11,766km (7311 miles) on the clock, Andrew says: “I’m not sure that it’s the true mileage. But it certainly doesn’t look as though it has done that many miles since it was rebuilt.”

It’s certainly been on its travels, though. Andrew found it in the United States, buying it from a man in California. “It hadn’t been in the States that long,” he says. “I found out that it had come to America after being sold at auction in Italy.”

Andrew sold it last year, but the buyer later got back to him and said that he had ran out of space to store it. “I was glad to get it back,” he says. Andrew currently has it up for sale on his website (a28classics.co.uk) at £8500, but adds: “Actually, I’m reluctant to let it go again. In fact, I love this bike.”

If the Laverda 750 SF were mine, I might be tempted to fit Triumph-style anti-vibratory handgrips and I’d certainly want to bolt on a mirror that showed more than your armpit and the inside of your elbow. Otherwise, I’d be happy just to ride and polish it.

Again, the SF wasn’t a big seller for Laverda. The price certainly didn’t help. In 1974 an SF cost £1250; a Kawasaki Z900 cost £1100. Nowadays you can pick one up for considerably less than a comparable Z1. And if big twins are your thing, it makes wonderful sense on the road – and a complete contrast to the Alpino.

Perhaps the widely different characters of the bikes are best summed up by looking at the different typefaces on the back of the seats. Attitudes at the factory were changing. The SF 750’s has a font that says ‘traditional classic racer’, while the Alpino’s says ‘sophisticatedly futuristic’ (or maybe ITV’s Tomorrow People).

Chasing Andrew through the countryside, with the 750SF barking beautiful music before me, I thought the Alpino might have a bit of a tough time keeping up. But no. As the SF thundered its way through tree-lined twistery, the 500 snapped at its heels, screaming away in its upper revs.

This journey of discovery turned out to have a double-bonus conclusion. I got to know not just one bike that deserves far more attention than it garners, but two. Try them if you can get the chance – you just might feel the same way.

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Words: John Naish Photos: Tim Keeton