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Benelli 250cc 2C, £40, needs slight attention, read the advert. Wow! An Italian masterpiece, must be like a Jota, thought I. It was hidden away on some godforsaken pig farm high up on the Pennines. The smell was something else and owner gave me all the info whilst he led me through what I can only describe as a pig sty to a small wooden shack at the bottom of a field.
After removing various farming implements, the machine was dragged into the sunshine. I was overcome. Was it the methane I had been inhaling or just the thought of getting a machine from Italy? I passed over the fact that the Pennine elements had eaten all the chrome off and it had seized solid. Minor problems, I thought. It was all there with only 8500 miles on the clock.
Being poor I haggled but got nowhere. Ended up with the machine plus one in pieces and a workshop manual, delivered to my door that same day for £40. I sprayed WD40 over it and went to bed cocooned in the knowledge of having joined the elitist Italian stallion brigade.
The full horror unfolded over the next few days. To enable myself to proceed with the surgical disembowelment of the machine, a quick flick through the workshop manual revealed an easy task, it was just a simple two stroke twin, after all, but I was a bit disturbed by all the dirty fingermarks on the gearbox section. Questions stabbed my brain, had it seized up?
I was irritable as I took the drain plug off, oil filled with precious metals; a gold panners dream flowed out. Off with the clutch side, crank end nut lodged in clutch housing, mucho alloy shavings. Heads off, barrels off, half a piston ring missing on one side. Adrenalin pumping, I prepared myself for the carnage as I separated the crankcase halves. My arse dropped off as I looked inside - part of the selector fork missing, every bearing ruined, oval con-rods and a seized crankshaft sitting in rusty water. What a mess. The headache eventually disappeared and my sleeping pattern returned to normal.
A parts catalogue had been given to me so I knew exactly what was missing, most of it was also missing from the spare bike. The response from breakers ranged from, 'A what' to, 'Try the ice cream factory.' Despondent until I eventually tracked down the one specialist in the country who could order parts. Many cycle parts and electrics were similar to other Italian bikes and with a little bit of persuasion could be made to fit. I was surprised at how simple the engine was to work on, aided by decent allen bolts holding everything together.
The rolling chassis was stripped, cleaned, painted and reassembled to as near standard as funds allowed. This was no concours job, I intended using it every day, rain, snow, sun and ice; it would be left outside even in the worst weather. After months of hassles, two tons of Swarfega, hands resembling those of a leper not to mention deep mental scars, it was finished. Petrol on, ignition on, kickstart down and the machine screamed into life at 5000 revs. Within seconds the garage was filled with thick blue smoke. I dived for the ignition switch - nothing happened. Then I tore the plug caps off - silence.
I ran outside to grab some air, shaking. After the smoke dispersed I returned. The throttle cable had been trapped open by the tank and the supposedly duff ignition switch was down to me - it has three positions and in my panic I had wrenched the switch to emergency rather than off.
The ride to the MOT station revealed something very wrong. I felt as if I was riding on a knife edge. The roads had turned to grease, the machine just waiting for the next corner to throw me off. I decided to get off first and check the machine but could find no problems. Marzocchi suspension was supposed to inspire confidence rather than scare the life out of me.
Everything was going fine at the MOT until I was asked to put it on the main stand. The seat flew up as it is hinged at the back and secured at the front with a thin lever. I assumed a failure but he told me to fix it when I got home, and an MOT certificate was offered.
I felt happy at overcoming this obstacle but the handling did not allow that feeling to last for very long. I had visions of broken limbs on the way home. I slowly returned home, wracking my brain for answers. Everything was okay, the MOT tester had said so. After hours of thought I decided it must be the tyres, they looked okay but must've been at least ten years old.
A pair of Michelins went on and the handling was transformed. Sure-footed adequately sums it up and I began to smile again. The next few weeks took care of running in and the engine settled down to a rattly tickover. Waxoyl was brushed over everything metal as a precautionary measure as Joe Rot was rearing his ugly head again.
The performance could be fully exploited once the engine was run in. Power delivery is smooth right into the red section at 7500rpm. There were no power surges or wheels in the air. However, assessing actual speed was impossible because the Veglia speedo had a needle that danced all over the face. I've read 90mph can be achieved which sounds about right.
Motorway riding posed the environmental problem of pollution, destroyer-like smoke screens, a Red Arrow on the highway does not attract many favourable looks. A lean oil mixture does not appeal to my wallet, so I have come to live with it. This is definitely a bike to be used in daylight hours, the 6V lighting is pathetic. Very unnerving at night in the rain, feebly pulsating at tickover and if you rev the bike hard the bulbs blow! Once the indicators were junked there were four less bulbs to blow and less strain on the system but I still keep lots of spares handy.
Fuel consumption varies between 35 and 70mpg. Braking is superb with a doublesided front drum, although I later changed to a single disc front end that was no more powerful and twisted the front forks slightly under heavy braking. An exposed speedo drive is good for a laugh until it seizes up.
The gearbox is a moody sod - some days positive, other days with loads of neutrals. The neutral warning lamp comes on in every gear except for the first two - it's so dim you hardly notice it. As a consolation the clutch is light with no drag but sounds as if it's self destructing when you engage first time in the morning.
The choke levers are mounted on the later type Dellorto carbs and it helps to be double jointed to position your hand between the carbs and pull up the levers. I think I'll go back to the handlebar mounted apparatus, but three cables and a junction box hardly seems worth it.
The roadholding and handling put all these grievances into the shade. The Benelli will run rings round many seventies Jap 250s on the twisty bits. The A57 snake-pass, Strines Road and Woodhead Road between Glossop and Sheffield have enabled me to claim many victims with my number one weapon - the smokescreen. The way the bike can be chucked around amazes me, although obviously I can't get near any of the new generation of strokers, but I have lots of fun trying.
I have heard that someone actually races a 2C, so I suppose they have some more power available if you want to tune them. To the amazement of friends and sceptics I have 25000 miles on the clock now and it's still going strong. The Waxoyl attracts all the dirt around and oozes on hot days.
I've gone through one set of fork seals, two air filters, two chain & sprocket sets, two sets of pads and the rear shoes are on their way out as are the swinging arm bushes. The fork stanchions are pitting but new ones are cheap enough.
The bike is dismissed as crap by almost everyone who looks at it, but it takes all the abuse I dish out and gives me pretty safe fun. I will always remember what one police constable said to me while travelling on the M6 - 'Get that lump of shit off my motorway.'
Russell Occleston
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When in Rome.....okay, no long preamble, I was in Italy, saw a nice 1975 Benelli 650 twin for the equivalent of £500, test rode it and bought it. I then had to ride the beast home to England, which is a good a way as any of becoming fully acquainted with a motorcycle.
This Italian version of the ubiquitous vertical twin had many modern refinements that were lacking in the British rivals. Horizontally split crankcases, wet sump oil supply with a proper oil filter, helical gear primary drive and very short stroke engine, amongst others. That said, it still controlled its valves via pushrods, the camshaft being situated in front of the engine, and managed a mere 52hp from its 643cc.
Or at least it did when new, my machine had a venerable 73,492 miles on the clock when I purchased it and enough past owners to form a motorcycle club. My initial impressions had been that the motor was in good fettle, whirring away with none of the rattles, knocks or grumblings normally associated with large capacity British twins. However, once out on the open road when the throttle could be used in anger, a disturbing reluctance to pull more than 70mph in fifth was experienced.
I took the easy option for the first two hundred miles, pottered along at fairly moderate speeds. The sun was shining, the beat of the vertical twin engine was reassuring and I was not in any particular hurry to return to the UK. In Genova, my stop for the night, I thought I had found the problem, badly worn ignition points, but a quick blast revealed no difference after I'd cleaned them up. I bought a new set from the local dealer, along with a new pair of spark plugs, but still no difference in performance.
Handling was pretty typical for an Italian machine. Basically stable, but tortuously stiff suspension. With so little speed available there was no danger of over-cooking it. At walking speeds the remarkably large mass, for a 650cc twin, of 485lbs was usually present, the machine quite often trying to flop over in low speed corners. Tyres were Pirellis, which appeared to follow every minor road contour and felt very harsh. Trundling into Nice, the motor stuttered into silence, feeling like the fuel had run out. I knew it hadn't because I'd only just added ten litres to the three gallon petrol tank. The solution to the lack of speed hit me then....the fuel filter was clogged up. Tearing along the coast to Marseille and then up to Lyon, after I'd cleaned it, I was able to put the ton on the clock several times but only at the price of the whole chassis turning into a blur of vibration.
Effective top speed was 75mph, which was pretty insulting actually as low speed torque was conspicuous by its absence, not until 5000 revs were on the clock did the motor take on any urgency and then the vibes came roaring in before the development of power could get seriously underway. I reassured myself that once back in the UK I could sell the machine for three to four times what I'd paid to some foolish collector who would not give a damn about its useability.
Another disappointing factor was that it was a very tiring bike to ride any distance. The seat was like iron, the bars were too high, the footpegs too far forward and the gearbox as clumsy in action as it was necessary in use to keep the engine turning over. The Italian's love of noise was evident in the straight through megas, which soon paled after fifty miles of having one's head buffetted by enough sound to drown a 747 on take off. The enforced leisurely pace was mitigated to some degree by frequent stops, lots of coffee and croissants whilst eyeing fabulously exotic French women.
The next day's ride from Lyon to Paris had a strong wind behind us. On a couple of occasions I sneaked the Benelli up to 110mph, ignoring both the vibes and the way the chassis snaked all over the road. Petrol disappeared at about 35mpg instead of the more usual, but nonetheless very poor, 45mpg. As I had to stop for R & R every 50 miles the poor range offered by the three gallon petrol capacity was of no concern.
Both the Benelli and I had problems hustling around the environs of Paris. The machine was too heavy to haul through the traffic, acceleration was poor at low revs and after too many hours in the saddle my concentration was all shot. A massive rainstorm did not help things one bit, the Pirellis being very nasty in the wet, sending the wheels skidding off in different directions. Okay, I admit it, I fell off! At about 20mph we slid down the road, bounced off a Renault and nearly demolished a front garden.
The bike turned out to be a tough bugger with little bent and no serious damage. I had an arm torn off my well nurtured leather jacket and a dose of gravel rash to my leg. The hospital were very understanding, agreeing to send the bill to an address I made up on the spur of the moment. A couple of days were spent hobbling around Paris, then a mad dash for Calais and the ferry home. The customs were very understanding when I told them I'd lost most of the documents in the crash, consoling themselves by taxing the bike on a value of £1750, which almost doubled the cost of the machine.
My immediate plan of selling the machine at a profit was temporary dislodged when I found that my other machine had been stolen in my absence, so the Benelli was pushed into use as a DR machine in London! The first thing I did was to fit some proper tyres, not that the Venoms offered any better stability, they just held on to the tarmac come what may in the wet.
In theory the Benelli has an electric start, in practice, Italian electrics being dubious at best, it rattles the engine into life about once a week and then takes the rest of the time off to recover. I have never started the 650 first kick, even when hot (the engine not I), usually three to five attempts are necessary. After a couple of days abuse in the city, the multi-plate clutch decided it had had enough, dragging something chronic at traffic lights and junctions. Neutral was next to impossible to find, and even when found had a frightening tendency to jump into first gear all on it own. This meant stalled engines were the order of the day and I was soon knackered kicking the beast back into life.
Just to add to my joy, first the side-stand sheared off then the centre-stand collapsed. No damage to the machine but I then had to find a wall or car to prop the machine against every time I stopped to make a delivery....at the end of a long day it was dead easy to mess up the kickstart, ending up in a heap with the machine in the gutter. I've still got the scars from the burns as evidence of this ineptitude.
A month's worth of despatch riding reduced the machine to rat status. Rust broke through on the tank and frame, the chrome turned brown and the alloy white. As soon as the insurance paid up for the theft I bought something more suitable for despatch riding and spent a weekend tarting up the Benelli. It sold within a day of the advert for £1200, which I thought fair enough as it had kept me in the DR game, amused me through Europe and ended up in a very poor state.
The engine had been most impressive in its reliability. In over 6000 miles it had never given a moment's cause for concern, had received no maintenance other than an oil change and had lost none of its power. However, the power was equivalent to a mere GS450, wasn't usable above 5500rpm and lacked torque below 5000rpm. The machine was also a 100lbs overweight, awkward in town and poor on fuel. The TLS front brake proved excellent in town and saved me many a time in treacherous conditions.
In the UK they are well overpriced, the usual idiot collectors buying them just because they are rare. I certainly would not be willing to pay silly money for one but when next in Rome I may well pick up another one for a few hundred quid and do the same journey all over again.....I reckon the profit would pay for a couple of weeks frugal holiday in Italy.
Dick Lewis
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Rumour holds that the old Honda CB500 four engine will fit straight into the Benelli 504's chassis. I don't know how true this is despite having owned a CB500 a long time ago. The engines do look similar and their power output is equally bland. The 500cc OHC across the frame four claims 50 horses but its delivery is so linear that it seems a lot less, there's never the feel of a motor coming on cam. Just like the old Honda, it'll put 80 to 85mph on the clock without any undue abuse, but going any faster is such hard work it's really not worth the bother.
The engine responded to juvenile tacho excess by needing valve adjustments every 500 to 750 miles and putting out a flurry of secondary vibes through not just the pegs and bars but also the seat and tank. The carbs kept their balance for about 500 miles and every now and again one of the slides stuck, which made the engine hunt between 1000 and 5000 revs!
Carburation always seemed slightly hesitant, a distinct delay between whacking open the throttle and the back wheel doing something. Its relatively primitive nature showed up in fuel that was never better than 40mpg. The dynamics of carburation, exhaust and combustion chamber shape were shown up when riding the 504 into a strong headwind; speed was down to 70mph and fuel up to 35mpg!
The motor always felt revvy as well, I was often trying to change up another gear when I was already in top. I could never persuade the Benelli to adopt a relaxed pace to match the parameters of its performance and chassis. The gearbox, with more than 15000 miles done, was neither slick nor precise; it mirrored, in fact, some old sixties Honda hack in its application. It was not impossible to adapt to, but even then would serve up a false neutral, which buzzed the motor like its poor old heart was going to explode into a million pieces.
The double cradle loop frame could have been produced by any factory anywhere in the world, but was well enough thought out to save the bike even when it was slung into desperate conditions by a sudden false neutral. The whole beast was held in check by famously stiff Italian suspension at both ends. The forks, despite their mileage still suffered from some seizing and responded to slow speed holes by sending concentrated jolts straight up my arms. The shocks did the same trick to my spine.
Smooth roads held no terrors for the Benelli, it could be slung over on to the stand prongs without the Pirelli tyres giving a moment's worry. The 504 had 425lbs of mass and slow steering geometry against it in the curves, but its stability and neutrality allowed me to take outrageous risks when I was in the mood.
This stability held it in good stead on bumpy roads. The rider took a battering but the wheels held on to their line in a way that the old Honda four could never hope to emulate - it used to waddle about on soft suspension, zig-zaging from bump to bump. As the Benelli never accelerated hard nor went very fast, any test of the chassis was limited but, apart from the lack of bump absorption, I was at ease with the 504.
Which is more than can be said for the drive chain. It always wanted to dissociate itself from the chassis, wore at an astonishing rate and broke three times when I tried to run them after removing links. They barely lasted 4000 miles. One time the broken chain busted into the back of the crankcases but I repaired that in-situ with good old Plastic Metal.
The only other chassis horror was the way corrosion would suddenly appear from nowhere, spread like wildfire until the whole component was covered in gunge. The frame, wheels and exhaust were particularly susceptible. The front disc calipers followed the trend set by the Japanese of seizing up over the winter, but they were easily rebuilt. Pads lasted 8 to 10,000 miles a set.
After a year's riding, various electrical components decided they couldn't take extended exposure to the English weather. Switches that filled with water, corroding contacts, made for amusing incidents such as the indicators flicking on and off in a psychedelic manner whilst the horn, normally nothing more than a croak, blared harshly enough to have pedestrians waving their fists in anger. The fuses either rusted to death, fell out or exploded.
By the time I was able to find the energy to rewire the bike, the generator was burnt out, the rectifier had melted, the battery was devoid of acid and just about every other electrical component had to be replaced. The breakers provided a viable source of electrical components, although I stayed clear of Suzuki bits. The most difficult part was persuading someone to rewind the generator but fifty notes in the right hands solved that one.
As the bike had to be stripped of all its cycle parts to access the electrical bits I took the time to rust proof and then Hammerite the frame. Some Scientific Coating's clear liquid was put on polished wheels, which meant that rather than a two hour cleaning session a week a quick wipe with a rag was all that was needed to keep them neat. A Honda CB500/4 four into one exhaust (thirty notes secondhand) was persuaded on to the Benelli engine but needed a bit of a pounding to clear the lower frame rails. It sounds lovely, but didn't increase performance.
Other complaints that could be levelled at the Benelli included a pathetic seat that went hard after 50 miles, wheels bearings that needed replacing every 6000 miles and a petrol tank that even when newish loved to rust rapidly - I'm on my third, one of them actually dropped a load of fuel over the engine. The bike sizzled for a while but resisted the urge to explode.
The Benelli was quite resistant to crash damage, as long as engine bars protected the ends of the crankshaft, the demise of either extremely expensive. I've slid off on diesel a couple of times, did no more damage than batter the pegs and bars. More serious was smacking into the side of a car that shot out of a road so fast it could only have done so with the sole intention of trying to kill me.
The front end hit the car, the sudden loss of momentum causing me to somersault over the cage, roll down the road a few yards and then pick myself up. I was full of craziness by then and would've torn the driver limb from limb, but the impact of the crash had warped the car's body so that none of the doors would open. There was a strong smell of petrol, so I tried to pull the Benelli out of the car with the intention of throwing a lighted match on the cage once we were at a safe distance.
Fortunately for the cager, there was no way I could pull the bike out. Someone had phoned the police so there was no hope of physical retribution. When the bike was finally pulled free, damage consisted of bent forks and dented exhaust, along with a bit of cosmetic damage. The cast front wheel was still intact. His car looked a write-off so I decided not to inform my insurance company which would stop his claim dead.
I had the forks straightened for £30 and cut and welded the pipes - they look a bit naff but matt black paint hides most of the damage. The smashed clock was glued back together with Superglue, as was one of the indicator lenses. This may sound dodgy but I've found it works fine from past experience.
This crash occurred about three years and 12000 miles into my ownership (the clock read 19,650 miles). The only result of the damage was fork seals that didn't last for more than 5000 miles (I hadn't had to replace them before). There was so little suspension movement that the lack of damping that resulted wasn't too noticeable.
Handling became more alarming when the rear shocks lost all their damping (at about 23000 miles). The back wheel would try to career off the road whenever I leant the bike over more than a few degrees on bumpy roads. It'll also jerk around after hitting a pot-hole. That was easily sorted with a pair of rather more compliant Konis. My spine was thankful for the diminution in violence of the bumps that got through the chassis. A slight weave occurred at 90mph, but this speed was never sustained for more than a few seconds so the weave had no chance of developing into a wobble.
A cheap rack and massive top-box were added for a while, but that did upset the handling whenever any kind of mass was put in the box. It didn't feel safe above 60mph. One blustery day, the wind shook the back end so much I thought the swinging arm bearings were shot, but it was just the gale catching the plastic. In the end I dumped the top-box.
That didn't help the touring ability. The shape of the tank meant that tank-bags slithered around all over the place, usually ending held in place by nothing more than its own weight and my knees. The only safe place to carry luggage was on the pillion perch. Once I had a bungee cord snap, wrap around the rear wheel whilst my clothes were scattered half a mile down the road. I never knew that bungee cords could be stretched so thin.
Touring the bike could manage, but only 150 to 200 miles a day. Any more then it became very uncomfortable and somewhat enervating (from the vibes and revvy nature of the engine). Fuel, engine maintenance and chain wear were other variables that didn't inspire during long distance usage but the basic reliability of the engine meant I had every confidence in reaching my destination.
Some Benelli motors don't last very long (I've just brought a dead 504 with only 14000 on the clock) but mine has now done 33000 miles without any major problems except for frequent doses of tender loving care. I suspect that is the determining factor in durability, neglected bikes both rusting and seizing quicker than most. Spares are so rare that it pays to track down one of the non-runners. Rarity of the 504 makes that hard work.
Prices are hard to work out. There's always the odd jerk who thinks because it's rare and Italian it must be a classic worth thousands, but I bought my nice one for £450 and the non-runner for £95. That sounds about right for a machine that's slow, quick corrode and heavy on consumables. I like its looks but can't claim it approaches beauty. It runs well in town, for short blasts in the country and for moderate touring. As a cheap and cheerful all-rounder it makes the grade, as a future classic my money's on the CB500/4!
H.K.L.
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Things always go wrong when you least expect it. Two years and 12000 miles into my ownership of the Sei, halfway along on a journey to Berlin, the six cylinder motor began to misfire. We had been rolling along in the outer lane of the autobahn at 125mph. Well, as near as I could gauge from the waltzing speedo needle.
There's nothing like having a long line of huge BMWs and Merc's suddenly up your arse to get the adrenalin going. The Benelli seemed to lose 25mph in an instant as it went on to four or five cylinders. There was no way I was going to let go of the bars to indicate I wanted to head for the slow lane. No, siree, I'd once waved back at a motorcyclist only to have the bars shake wildly. Never again. I put the indicators on, always a difficult task as the switches were so worn they were very vague.
As soon as the indicators flicked on they drew some power, the bike lost more speed as the misfiring intensified. I left them on long enough to get into the 80mph slow lane. We burped along for about four miles until a turn off appeared. The Sei kept going until we hit a small town called Varenhtz, about 10 miles from Hannover.
I'd had some electrical faults in the past. Typical Italian traits - connectors that rusted, wire that fell apart, regulators that disintegrated, lights that blew and horns that croaked rather than screamed. There was nothing too serious, nothing that a bit of wiring and used Japanese components could not fix.
Now, I had a dead battery, the third one I'd fitted to the bike and only two months old. The acid was at the correct level, thus it wasn't boiling over but failing to charge. The big question: was it because the generator was burnt out or because the wiring or black boxes had failed?
I was peering under the seat when a booming voice speaking in heavily accentuated English made me leap a yard in the air. Much laughter followed as I clutched my chest in heart attack mode. The German was a BMW fanatic, spending ten minutes slagging off Italian people and machinery. I was just summoning up the nerve to hit him when he changed tack entirely, ending up inviting me into his house for the night and helping me suss the Benelli in his garage.
The generator had indeed burnt out. No problem, was his constant refrain, he had a cousin who was an auto-electrician. Five days later I was back on the road, having consumed more beer in shady bars in that time than I usually managed in a year. The rewind had cost £200, these Germans don't work for peanuts even during a recession.
To be honest, I was quite thankful for the extended R & R because two day's hard charging on the Sei was all it took for me to have pains in my thighs, backside and shoulders. The Benelli has a very wide set of sidepanels and skimpy seat that were not much good after 50 miles. With the lack of speed limits in Germany I'd soon come to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to eat up the mileage as quickly as possible.
The Benelli had two things going for it. The motor had perfect primary and secondary balance that meant even when flirting with the red zone it still retained its unique smoothness. The other thing was the exhaust noise, although noise is too harsh a word to describe the beautiful, spine tingling note that came in after 6000 revs out of the conveniently baffleless (due to rust) 6-2 exhaust system. I never tired of that note, would often play on the gearbox even when there was no real need.
The Sei had come with very strange gearing, I always felt that I needed an extra couple of gears. I could quite happily take off in third gear. The motor liked to rev, but had just about enough power below 6000 revs to make life interesting. With the exhaust howl came real power. A larger gearbox and smaller back wheel sprocket gave much taller gearing; vastly more relaxed but still able to take off with ease in first gear.
It made for a relaxed 100mph cruiser with the taller gearing, although it did little for fuel, which still stayed close to 40mpg, despite only being fed by three carbs. Top speed was a somewhat nervous 140mph, but up to 125mph was tolerable with regards to stability.
If the engine looked like a CB500 motor with an extra couple of cylinders, the frame also looked like something Honda might've produced in the seventies. Fortunately, the Wops were past masters at making motorcycles handle even if part of that solution was suspension that did not move unless assaulted by large pot-holes or stimulated by speeds in excess of 90mph.
Ultimately, there is too much mass placed too high fighting a fairly minimal tubular frame. Flat out, weaves come in from a mildly oscillating back wheel. Cornering hard the front forks will shake exiting curves if the stands haven't dug in and thrown the bike way off line.
A bit of time with the Sei revealed that none of these apparent traumas came near to turning terminal. Helped by an excess of feedback from the excellent, if short-lived, Metzelers and the knowledge that a bit of violent input would calm the beast down rather than throw it into a bigger wobble.
As I closed in on Berlin I was thankful for this inherent lack of suicidal inclinations. The road was very rutted, with grooves about two inches deep across the width of the surface but going in the same direction as myself. At 30mph they would have been tolerable but at the 80mph the traffic velocity forced on me some lesser bikes would've been into terminal speed wobbles. The best bet was to let the wheel follow the rut and not panic when the bars shook. I was glad, though, to get off that road.
Oil was something the engine loved to consume. I knew when it was low because the excess heat would spread to the gearbox, making it feel like slicing a blunt knife through rubber. Figure a pint every 125 miles. I used the cheapest 20/50 I could find, which probably didn't help.
Berlin revealed that some of that oil was seeping out of the cylinder head gasket. A hissing noise indicated that the head needed to be torqued down with some violence. Taking the massive tank/panel/seat combination off wasted a good hour and I wasn't too amused to find that two of the nuts were rounded off. Obviously, someone had the same problem before. Still, I stopped the worst of the leak and removed the hissing.
Due to the delay en route I was all too soon back on the road to the UK. For one wild hour I held the speedo at 135mph. I wasn't the fastest vehicle on the autobahn by any means! Judging by the rattles I don't think Benelli intended it to be ridden like that. The chain was almost dragging along the ground, but then it rarely lasted for more than 6000 miles.
The discomfort was such that I carried on for the rest of the day at ton plus speeds until we hit the coast and the ferry home. I could barely walk when I crawled off the bike and got some rude comments from a couple of dubious characters in pink leathers on a similarly hued Harley! I was too tired to beat the shit out of them.
Back home the hissing and leaking had returned with a vengeance. Rather than tightening the head down further, my force on the nuts stripped two studs out of their threads. I had a second bike so it was not the end of the world.
Taking off the cylinder head revealed that it was cracked! The bores, pistons and crankshaft were all in fine fettle so I couldn't dump the bike with a clear conscience. The clock read 32000 miles. The head also looked a bit warped. After a bit of running around I found an engineering shop that would weld the cracks and machine the surface flat for £100 cash.
Two weeks later I was merrily reassembling the bike when tapping the exhaust into place caused one of the downpipes to crack. More welding. I could have cried. But finally, the engine was in one piece (not too difficult but a huge number of bits to juggle) and I was ready for the road again.
I ran it in by using it for commuting in town. Not ideal as it was too wide to use almost any of its prodigious acceleration. After 300 miles I found it was reluctant to go over 7500rpm, which wasn't so bad on UK roads as it'd still cruise at 90mph or more. A compression test revealed it was about 20% down - quite common after a partial rebuild as most engines don't like to be disturbed.
By the time 37000 miles were done I was of the impression that the bike was not going to last much longer without an infusion of cash. They are weird bikes to buy and sell. I bought mine for £725 after it had been advertised for £2500! I was the only one to turn up to look at the machine, gave him my number after telling him how much I was willing to pay. I put an advert in at £2250 and had two punters almost coming to blows. One forced £2600 on me. I would've been happy, in truth, with £600!
G.T.J.
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I had started a new job and my finances were looking up slightly. My old XS250 was in need of a bit of loving care and attention so I was on the look out for a newer machine. I was told of a Benelli 250 two stroke twin for sale.....only 18 months out of the showroom, 900 miles on the clock. I knew the owner and for only 400 notes I jumped at the chance.
My first ride on the bike was a revelation. I had been using an old Honda stepthru as transport for a couple of weeks and this tended to exaggerate the Benelli's performance at first. The Benelli accelerated like a scalded cat, although top speed was never certain. Once it reached 85mph the speedo needle did windscreen wiper impressions. The bike has been clocked at 105mph on a few occasions...
The handling was pretty good, although the suspension was a bit on the hard side. Marzzocchi forks up front and a very stiff frame helped. Apart from typical Wop chrome, its appearance was fine. It looked quite neat, in a straightforward way, better than most of the other 250 twins of its period.
Everything went well until the winter started. Every time it rained the tail-light went out until I sealed the unit with silicone. The old style block tread type rear Pirelli didn't like wet roads. I first found this out when the rear wheel tried to overtake the front on a right-hand bend. This left me at ninety degrees to where I should have been. I threw the bike upright and the tyre gripped again.
I went down into a ditch, which was running along the side of road, at about 60mph. The bike ran along the ditch for a short distance before depositing me on my back in the road. I spun around several times on my back whilst the lights went out on the bike. Consequently, when I got up, amazingly unhurt, I had no idea which way I was facing so headed for the nearest hedge. A few moments later some workmates arrived so we were able to extract the Benelli to find the only damage a bent brake pedal.
The front Brembo disc brake also disliked the rain. In the dry it was powerful enough to almost lift the rear wheel when applied harshly but in the wet I had to remember to keep clearing the disc. I had one heart stopping moment, trying to brake from over ninety, and just went sailing on for quite a distance, the water clearing just in time to enable me to slow down for a sharp bend. The disc would also change to a rust colour if the bike was left out overnight.
The first major problem was a disinclination to go into fourth gear, accompanied by a nasty noise - with only 3000 miles on the clock. The dealer traced the fault to a bent selector fork and damaged third and fourth cogs - 150 quid to fix.
If that wasn't bad enough, on the way home, following my father's car which had taken me to pick the bike up, the front light blew. As I was keen to get home it was decided that I would follow the car down the back lanes to avoid the boys in blue. As the pace hotted up I began to drop behind my father, to the extent that once he turned a bend I was plunged into darkness. I hit the only gate for a quarter of a mile either way and discovered that the petrol cap was extremely badly placed.
Back home, we were able to knock the dent out of the mudguard where it hit the horn (mounted just below the headstock). However, the fork tubes were 90 quid for the pair, the inner assembly fifty and then 35 notes to have the wheel rebuilt. I got her mobile again, only to find when I took it to work the woodruff key behind the rotor sheared, meaning it wouldn't start.
The next episode involved the clutch cable. The clutch had always been stiff, so eventually the nipple pulled off the cable. As a new cable would take six weeks to arrive, I decided to have a new inner made up. As the Benelli had become my only transport, I had to ride to work for a few days with no clutch.
Changing gear was no problem, starting off was the fun part. This involved pushing her as fast as I could, putting her into gear, keeping the bike going while it chugged away and then trying to leap on when she hit the power band (an interesting way of wearing your boots out).
One memorable excursion on the Benelli was nearly a year after I'd acquired it. It was a VMCC trail at Pembrey race track. The idea of the event is based upon consistency of lap times and is open only to European machinery. The sun was shining down on a smooth, dry track and the Benelli was right at home, setting quite respectable lap times. It was a most enjoyable day out.
On the way home the air in the front tyre decided to go AWOL. Within a matter of seconds the front tyre had gone flat, my pillion grabbed my shoulders expecting to land on the deck. I tried to lose some of the 40mph without braking, unable to steer. Luckily, nothing was coming the other way and we ended up stopped on the wrong side of the road.
I had a few minor electrical problems with the Benelli later and I needed a more reliable bike for work, so I sold her to a mate. He knew of the problems I had had, but after a test ride he was hooked.....if you want a bike that will cause you to despair, empty your bank account and give you a big grin every time you ride it, buy a Benelli 250 2C.
Mark Whitehouse
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The 654's a handsome devil in the classic mould. A four cylinder machine with a passing resemblance to the CB650, an interesting bit of reverse engineering insofar as the Jap's got going in the sixties by copying the Wop's. They are now sadly rare in the UK, but their reputation is such that they don't fetch much dosh. £600 for a clean 1978 example seemed like bargain time to me. Rewired, fitted with Honda switches and repainted, it wasn't in bad nick for a 32000 miler.
Buy it, a little voice in my head said after a quick blast. The motor, if truth be told, was a bit gutless but the suspension was still taut and it handled with unexpected precision. The Wop's could always make the most unlikely concoctions handle. There was rust on the exhaust, headlamp rim, frame and shock springs but it wasn't beyond hope. I rode home in a high mood.
My friends laughed at me and the bike. Said I was a fool to trust such an old Italian motorcycle. Bound to blow up or break down, said they. I waited for the inevitable but for the first six months all was jolly good fun. Part of that was down to only running around town, mostly stringing the old dear along in second or third when she screamed out of the four into two.
Steering geometry was too staid to allow wheelies, but I could get the back tyre to smoke when the boredom became too much, although the clutch would rattle away merrily for the next few days! Petrol was bad at 35mpg and I had to keep an eye on the oil level; it both leaked and smoked quite heavily above 9000 revs. Er, sorry, didn't know you weren't supposed to rev that high.
Vibration above 7000 revs rattled the bars and pegs but it was okay for short bursts of acceleration. The chain, unless set up to perfection, rattled alarmingly below 2000 revs. The best power was in the 5000 to 9000rpm range in second and third, though taller gears wouldn't pull more than 8500 revs. Gearing was taller than stock, due to a bigger gearbox sprocket, take-offs needed some clutch slip.
When I started to use the bike for long distance touring after six months of happy ownership, due to a change of work, I found that the gearbox tended to seize up in the upper ratios. Needed a really strong boot to free it off. Complicated by the gearchange lever coming loose every 100 miles, or so, due to the vibes. In the end it needed massive force to stop it slipping on the shaft.
The first time it came loose, I didn't realise, thought the gearbox had given up completely. Left me stuck in fourth for ten miles. The smell of burnt clutch plates hung in the air when I got home, but despite loads of abuse it never went down completely. The bike didn't run very cleanly in fourth gear at low speeds, the complete absence of any torque brought home to me.
Why should such a decent sized four be so rev happy yet not produce any real hard power. Top speed was 120mph - checked against a friend's machine as the stock speedo wavered madly above 60mph! Whilst this sounds reasonable enough, strong headwinds or hills had that down to about 95mph. Pretty pathetic for a 650. Fuel could dive down to an incredible 25mpg if distance needed to be covered in a desperate hurry. An expensive old tank!
Not that high speed could be held for any length of time. The secondary vibes were fierce, as if no-one had taken the time and trouble to match the frame to the engine's dynamics, which was odd as it looked pretty similar to the much smoother efforts employed by Honda. 'Course, the frame was made out of better metal, welded neatly and combined with good suspension. A trick it took the Jap's a while to comprehend.
As a wide four it was still a bit top-heavy and unwieldy for throwing through the bends but there was no nastiness hidden within the chassis. Basically, it was all down to the rider and how brave he wanted to be. A few times I dived inside my mate's GS750, leaving him gob-smacked with my superior line. But even winding the Benelli up to the redline failed to keep him from coming streaming past on the next straight.
The brakes were also superior to Jap stuff of that era, though not up to modern standards. A fistful of lever was needed to get the twin front discs working hard, and they could be a bit lacking in feedback, but it was the kind of stuff that you adapt to and learn how to use to the maximum. Safe handling and strong braking often made up for the lack of outright power.
How fast was fast? Well, on nicely curving A-roads the bike could keep up with Jap 750s of a similar type (GS750, GT750, CB750F, etc), at the price of screaming the engine until both my hearing and sight were threatening to give up the ghost. I could keep it up for about half an hour; after that I let the buggers go and went into laid back mode at 75 to 85mph.
On motorways or fast A-roads the bike was only as good as things like GS550's. It could go faster but the main limitation was vibration. If I wanted to cruise for a couple of hours it was 80mph maximum - almost everyone I knows cruises the motorway at 90mph plus, so I was a bit of a laughing stock again.
Another limiting factor was that the Benelli didn't like the rain. The engine chimed on to two or three cylinders, not a nice experience when it comes back on to power on wet roads. The otherwise excellent Pirelli's tried to skid off the tarmac. The bike also felt a bit squeamish on wet roads, losing its stuck to the tarmac feel. I wasn't a happy man!
The other problem with the rain was that it brought out all the rust. Once, I left the bike out overnight, came down the next day and could barely recognize the machine. Covered in crud, rust and alloy corrosion. It seems to suck water out of the atmosphere.
It cleaned up after a couple of hours worth of elbow grease but every time the rain came the corrosion returned. More serious was the way the guts of the silencers were spat out, the straight through system turning the power delivery truculent. The only cheap solution was a pair of universal cans, which apart from a stutter around 2500 revs didn't harm power delivery and gave my ears a much easier time. A week after I fitted them their chrome was speckled with rust. It must be contagious!
Often, the downpipe's collets came loose, causing massive backfiring. Engine bolts needed a weekly going over. After just over a year the generator started playing up, the battery going dead. Down to the wiring falling apart, anything serious and I would probably have dumped the machine.
By then I wasn't too impressed with its engineering or power. The chassis was sufficiently useful to take another engine, apart from the way all the metal spat out the rust! I didn't bother trying to fit another motor, it was easier to look around for a new bike and put the Benelli up for sale.
I wanted something a little bit different, ended up on a Ducati 500 Desmo vertical twin, nice nick, mine for £400 plus the 654. I thought I was used to vibration until I pushed the Duke into the red - a bloody pile-driver. I don't half buy 'em.
The Benelli's new owner phoned me up five weeks later, complaining that the engine had seized up solid. Nothing to do with me, mate, I opined. His tame mechanic reckoned I'd revved the balls off it without much oil in the sump. Well, it did lose most of its lubricant on a long run, but it never seemed to do any real harm. I offered to buy it back for £100. I had the phone slammed down on me.
Keith Williams