Something I often struggle with: How to be contented with the motorcycle I have. And since it’s Thanksgiving, and we’re supposed to remember to be thankful for what we have, here’s our resident Guzzi pilot Nick Adams coming back with a story that isn’t filled with moto-lust for the next great machine! Not that he doesn’t like trying new bikes, but when it all comes down to brass tacks, Mister Adams is very happy and thankful for his old-school Eldorado!—Ed.

We all seem to be in pursuit of the perfect motorcycle, but what constitutes ‘perfect’ is different for each of us. Not for me, the latest, upsized, high-tech, gravel-road rocket on stilts or some plastic-clad hundred and fifty horsepower road-burner. I’m content with my mostly-reliable, somewhat tatty, fifty year old Italian girlfriend.

For me, there is something wonderfully liberating about riding a machine whose innermost secrets of are known to me. It’s comforting to be able to visualize all those internal parts I’ve lovingly caressed, whizzing around in a blur. It’s reassuring to know their condition, and soothing to know that when something does go wrong, the fix doesn’t need a dealer or a bank loan, even if a little gentle servicing is required sometimes.

After a chilly, late April spin around Quebec’s Gaspé peninsula on my 1972 Moto Guzzi Eldorado, I was heading back along the long and tedious Highway 20 towards Ontario when I hit a snag. At Drummondville, major construction on the four-lane highway had all traffic diverted through the town. Whether by accident or design, the traffic lights at each intersection were not working, the police were doing an unimpressive job of managing traffic flow, and vehicles were backed up throughout the town.

我的老年Guzzi一直运行完美to that point, but an hour and a half of stop-go shuffling was not doing the clutch any favors. Older Guzzi’s dry clutches are usually robust and relatively trouble free, but as the temperature inside the air-cooled engine started to rise, I could feel the clutch getting balky. As we limped on I would snick the bike into neutral before rolling to a stop, but as the heat built, finding neutral became more-and-more tricky, and once I’d scrunched back into gear to move another fifteen or twenty feet, the bike wanted to lurch forwards. The clutch was becoming like an on-off switch.

Eventually I was past the last intersection and was able to rejoin the highway. As the speed increased, the air flowing across those jutting cylinders cooled the bike to normal temperatures, and, by the time I was home, I’d forgotten that there had ever been a problem. So a couple of months later, when I headed across Canada to Vancouver Island, I didn’t give the Guzzi’s clutch a second thought. Across northern Ontario and the prairies then through the mountains, it performed its job predictably and well until I got caught up with stop-go weekend holiday traffic on the Sea-To-Sky Highway north of Vancouver. Once again, the clutch became wayward and downright dangerous. And once again, it reverted to normal once the engine cooled a little. The return journey from BC to Ontario was traffic and trouble free and I experienced no further clutch issues. But two such incidents were enough to get it through my thick head, that it was time to address the problem.

Fast forward a couple of months. My other bikes were working fine so I’d ridden those while I let the Guzzi recuperate until I summoned the energy to examine the clutch. Getting at the clutch involves removing the rear wheel, toolboxes, side panels, swinging arm, battery tray, gear linkages, brake parts and gearbox. It’s simple enough, but time consuming, and since my bike was still coated in a year’s worth of congealed oil and road gravel, it was a grimy and unpleasant task.

Nevertheless, I soon had the clutch plates in my hands. I could see that they still had plenty of life, but the surfaces were glazed. A few minutes of gentle sanding and they looked like new. A smart person would probably have replaced them, but old Guzzi riders are notorious for their parsimony and I certainly fall into that category.

A couple of hours later, the clutch was back in place, the gearbox bolted up, and those parts I’d strewn across the garage floor were all back in their proper spots. I’d taken the time to modify the gear linkages to get rid of 200,000 kilometers of wear and slop, and I’d changed the fork oil which I hadn’t touched since – well, an awful long time ago.

A quick ride up the street in my grease-impregnated garage clothes assured me that everything was working as it should. Time for a longer ride.

The longer ride was only a forty kilometer loop, but it was enough to remind me why, of all the bikes I’ve ever owned, this is the one I favour for long tours. By most people’s standards, it’s not a good bike. Below 3500 rpm the engine is a bit rough. The drum brakes are not up to modern standards, the suspension is antiquated, and the handling, while predictable, isn’t race-track crisp. Regardless of these quirks, it has a magical ability to make me happy, and an unerring capacity to cover vast distances in comfort and style.

Living with a bike like this is a constant dialogue between rider and machine. Are the tappets getting too noisy? Is that wear in the universal joint I can feel through the footrests? What’s that faint rattling? Oh – just the tool box keys vibrating against the dash. This is not your average ‘point and shoot’ motorcycle. It demands involvement, even coaxing sometimes. Occasionally the points and carburetors need adjusting or cleaning and parts wear out and need to be changed. It’s a work in progress.

Like many riders, I’ve had other bikes. Some have served me well then been passed on for others to enjoy. Some have just not held my interest, even though, on paper they were far better, more modern and more sophisticated machines. Yet my Moto Guzzi Eldorado stays. From time to time I dream about the effortless performance and reliability of the latest machines, especially when I’m fiddling with something at the side of the road in the pouring rain, but as soon as we’re rolling again, those treacherous thoughts fade.

In many ways, I think we are all looking for that elusive motorcycling sweet spot – that nexus where price, performance, handling, practicality, style and personal delight coincide. I’m just lucky I found mine.