Cagiva Wmx125

Cagiva WMX125

Some things Italian don't get better with age

I'M A PATHOLOGICAL ITALOPHILE. SO IT WAS MORE THAN A little ironic when, having failed to connect with the seller of a 1988 CagivaWMX250 advertised in the Recycler, I happened upon a 1984 Cagiva WMX125 with a "For Sale" sign taped to its front numberplate.

As I stood curbside examining the bike's crusty exterior, the owner greeted me with the familiar, "Interested?"

“I don’t know,” I replied. “How much are you asking?” “Five hundred dollars,” he said with an impressively straight face. “That’s what I paid for it three years ago, and I haven’t ridden it since.”

“Yeah, and you haven’t washed it either,” I thought to myself, unfortunately out loud. Judging by the date on the green sticker, the bike had likely been ridden hard and put away wet sometime prior to June, 1993, and sat ever since.

I asked if the bike ran, expecting the usual lame answer about how it did when he bought it, yada, yada, yada. But instead, the owner stabbed at the kickstarter and the engine fired right up! “Here, take it for a ride,” he offered. So I did, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it worked fine. Like a pound puppy, this bike just needed a good home.

“So, are you interested?”

I hemmed and hawed, explaining that because the bike obviously had been neglected, it wasn’t worth $500. Besides, I was in the market for a 250; the last thing I needed was a 125.

“Okay, so how much will you give me?” he begged.

I surveyed the contents of my wallet, thick from an ATM withdrawal, and offered him $100. Cash.

The owner let out a guffaw, and then, realizing that another pathological Italophile might not come along, accepted my offer.

When I got home, I gave the bike a long-overdue bath, and made a list of parts that needed replacing. I called a few Cagiva dealers to inquire about parts, and soon learned to laugh along with them. Scouring the classifieds proved just as fruitless, until I spotted an ad for a rolling basketcase, minus engine, in not-too-distant Temecula. A seemingly extravagant expenditure of $45 netted me the very parts I needed: a pair of rust-free fork stanchions, an unmangled chainguide and a seat. The saddle that came on my bike had more stuffing hanging out than the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. An air filter from Jimmy Lewis’ stash of KTM parts replaced the one that crumbled as I removed it, and new coolant in the radiator, gear oil in the tranny and premix in the tank had the bike ready to roost. With a new set of handgrips and liberal application of BBQ black to the rusted expansion chamber, it even looked pretty good! Total expenditure: less than $200.

How does it work? Pretty well for a 16-yearold 125. To be honest, though, I haven’t ridden it much. You see, when I got home that evening, there was a message from the guy with the 250 on my answering machine.

I bought it the next day.

Brian Catterson