It's easy to forget, in these sanitised pre-packaged days, the grim realities of life below the surface. People try not think that, for example, the lamb in their meal once bounced around a field going 'Baaaa!', or that people say 'Bless You' when you sneeze because of one of the most devastating infections in human history. It's the same with transport - people prefer not to know that the internal combustion engine is basically a series of explosions shackled by metal. 

The Laverda Formula 750 S strips away this last delusion as many as nine thousand times a second... It's not that the twin Termingnoni pipes are loud, as such - it's more that they're so stupendously fucking loud that it's not your ears that are in danger of damage at full throttle, but rather your lower intestine... Laverda launched the standard 750 S in 1997 to almost universal apathy - although nice to look at, the 750cc parallel twin engine produced only about 65 hp, the suspension was coarse, and it just didn't match up to it's only real competitor, the Ducati 748. Laverda took this to heart. They saw the success of Aprilia, Cagiva and Ducati (and even, to a certain extent, Moto Guzzi) in finding niches not convered by the Universal Japanese Motorcycle, and wanted in. Although they had a few bikes on the market, there last landmark bike had been in the seventies - the stonking 3-cylinder Jota, a bike pretty much single-handedly responsible for the MOT noise regulations in the UK according to enthusiasts. 

Seeing the success of Ducati and Aprilia on the track, and how well it reflected on their road bikes, Laverda wanted to follow suit. Without a viable WSB or GP bike engine though (a 900cc triple is reportedly in development) they instead decided to go Supersport racing, confident that the 750 could hold it's own against the Japanese 600s and the dreaded 748. It got slaughtered. In stock trim, with the minimal mods allowed by SS racing, it just wasn't wuick enough or good enough around the corners. So Laverda moved the goalposts, and released the Formula - basically just a homologation special, with Marchesini magnesium wheels, Termi pipes (and factory ECU to allow the best from the Termis), Paioli suspension, Weber-Marelli fuel injection, and a load of carbon fibre. The problem is, they needed to shift enough units to make it through the homologation rules - and people weren't even buying many of the standard S model. So, while Ducati sold the run of 250 996 Foggy Rep SPS in less than two days, Laverda were forced to sell a bike with almost £4,000-worth of top-notch add-ons for only a grand above the selling price. 

Oh, and they never won many races either. 

Mine's not actually a 'true' Formula, as it happens - it's Formula spec, though, after some lunatic previous owner decided he wanted the Formula just *after* buying the standard S. His loss was my gain though - I paid 4k for a 2-year old, low milage bike that is - when it works - absolutely astonishing. 

The looks are a bit anonymous compared to the output of Ducati and Aprilia, but certainly different - the twin, round headlights and large ram-air scoops hint at mid-90s jap bikes, but with a definite flair. Mine is predominately black with orange bits - it's also available in silver with orange bits. Their are air intakes in what *should* be the fuel tank, which is a hint to possibly the oddest part of the design of the bike. Anyone who knows their engines will tell you big-bore twins need a huge amount of airbox space to prevent turbulence problems on intake. They'll also know that while a parallell twin is nice and narrow, it's rather tall, making airbox positioning between the fuel tank and the top of the engine very tricky indeed. Laverda saw that, while the airbox *had* to be as close to the engine as possible, the fuel tank could be wherever the hell they wanted - and so stuck it in the pillion seat instead. A very efficient design, to be sure, allowing the Laverda to suck it's air in far more easily than the 748 (or, indeed, Yamaha's TRX, another inline twin). Laverda reckon peak power of 90 bhp - considerably more than the competition - but I'd say it's about even with the 748 from chasing (and being chased by) a 748 down the back roads of Essex. 

Handling is superb. The engine layout means that the C of G is quite high and forward, making it feel more like an inline four than a v-twin. It's not the fastest-steering bike in the world, which translates to rock-solid stability mid-corner. The slow steering may be a blessing in disguise though - powering out of a corner any bumpier, than, say, a billiard table after a going over with a steamroller in a black hole results in the front end getting rather frisky and slappy. It never feels out of control - it's more of a little wake-up call. The acceleration is rather brisk - although it dislikes power below 3krpm, juddering nastily, once it's rolling it's very smooth indeed, building up to a lovely rush of power at 7.5krpm that is cut cruelly short by the rev limiter at 9.5krpm. No problem- the gearbox is beautifully refined, snicking the next gear in without a hint of a clutch - which is just as well, as the clutch is *bloody* heavy. Braking is taken care of by the obligatory Brembo Goldline calipers and discs, and is ferocious enough to lift the back end with two fingers. Feel is a little lacking though, and between the big power pulses at the back and the sharp bite of the brakes at the front, it's a real handful in the wet. 

All of this, obviously, is accompanied by the sweet music from the Termi full race system. It's a very different sound from the Ducati bang-bang-rattle at idle, as it's a 180 degree firing pattern rather than the Duke's 270 degree. It's much smoother, and the fuel injection is spot-on in almost all conditions - very wet, cold weather throws it a bit, though , and it has a tendency to act almost like it's icing the (non-existent) carbs. The switchgear includes a choke lever which is actually a fast-idle selector - quite useful, as you can crank idle up from 1750 or so rpm to 2500, which makes town riding quite a bit easier (although probably isn't that good for the engine...). On the move, though, the injection is nigh-on perfect - as Ducati found out a few years ago, and Suzuki still don't seem to have realised, the idea with a fuel-injected twin is *not* to give the maximum possible amount of power possible the moment the throttle is opened - it needs to be a smooth increase of torque to let the back tyre get used to matters. Speaking of which, I got the dealer to swap the Pirelli Dragons on it for BT56s, which are more than grippy enough without dying too quickly. 

Now we come to the bad bit. This bike seems determined to make me pay for the two trouble-free years i had on the Aprilia by being as italian as possible at every opportunity. Within a day of picking it up, it had blown a fuse making the rev counter, idiot lights and indicators pack up. Then the ignition barrel's wiring fell to pieces, necessitating replacement. Then one of the ultra-sexy Dzus quick-release fairing fasteners managed to punch it's way through the rad. Then the starter solenoid blew. Now the battery is patchy after all the standing around in cold garages required by the above mishaps. Laverda's parts are surprisingly cheap - a replacement rad, for example, would have only cost 150 quid (although it was repaired rather than replaced, because, being Italian, there was no way of saying how long the part would take to turn up). It also gets through petrol at a truly stupendous rate, and if you're always worried about it's capability of getting you home, you can never get comfortably lost on a Sunday run - particularly as the toolkit consists of - and I'm not kidding here - a single Allen key. 

I really, really, love the Laverda. Seriously. The feeling you get coming out of a corner with the front wheel just skimming off the tarmac, the way people can't help but turn and stare when they hear it coming, the fact that it's a bike with genuine rarity value (there are only 400 or so in the UK, and I've only ever seen one other on the road), everything about this bike is special. Much as I dislike anthropomorphising bikes, you can easily imagine it as some moody, borderline-psychotic Italian beauty - you putr up with all of it's tantrums just because of how good it makes you feel when it's in the mood. Unfortunately, though, I've neither the money nor the time any more, so I'll probably be flogging it to some poor unsuspecting sod this coming summer. As to how I coped with the unreliability this winter...