Custom motorcycles, cafe racers and classic motorcycles

The project name is Brigida. This guy really, really likes his bike. I’m not an italian expert, but this a reasonable approximation of what it says … enjoy.

March 28th, going to get the bike from Boris:

Matty: “You know I am all worked up.”
Me: “I can’t wait to hear its sound.”

Someone could say … I know, often i begin my articles with “somone”. Forgive me, there’s lots of emotion. One could think that its idiotic to be moved by a motorcycle. At the end of the day, its only an object of iron, rubber, plastic and paint. Another will become emotional at the thought of those materials together. I dont know what the reason, I just admit it exists: [Not sure of next sentence ... sorry.]

Then something happened. I felt a need for a new life. A racing bike as I wanted it, actually how me and Matty wanted it: it seems that to create life you always need a pair … maybe even more than two.

March 29th , Just fired it up

Talking on the phone with Roberto: “Do you here how well it runs? you’ve made a great engine”

To build a racing bike is to search for, contain, and harmonize many spirits and contributions. Those of Giovanni Magni, expressed in the lightness of the magnesium disc brakes. Those of Boris Minoretti (BormiParts) which come together in how the sturdy chasis collects the boiling vapors and many other important details. Those precious and generous [contributions] of Roberto Freddi, in harmonizing the orchestra which is its motor, sketching out a path through cams, valves, pistons and cylinders that produce those doses of power we except to feel with a flick of our wrists. The contribution (which will be the loudest) of Romano Micheli, the final breath of exhausts. The spirit of Bruno Scola whose legendary hands refined her, touched her up and will touch her often. Those of Mauro Abbadini and of Miguel Martinez, who contributed nothing of material but where there from the first creative spark, the spark which started the fire that could not be put out. [Author goes on to list many more names of people from whom he solicited advice]

Unfortunately the weather is tyrannical, even more tyrannical is our will, after a year of abstinence from the track (i didnt imagine it would be this hard) so that for now, i will miss these spirits who id want with me. But they will come to us. I want to hear them sing in unison at the push of the on button, knowing that they will melt with our soul, in the search of a result that will not necessarily be the lowest number in the final rankings, but the exploration of our limits, the drive into the dark cave naked, as says the great Dr. Costa, to come out the other side freer than before. To have fun. To feel liberated and happy through the curves. To have a laugh, always and inspite of, before and after, and to exclaim. Because we are and will always be Minchions [club name?], and this is our flag, and this is our only faith.

I look at her and i see her already on the starting line, lined up on the edge of the track ready to explode of the line like rubberband on the green light. I see her slide into the race lines in the warm sun of the late afternoon as she draws near the chequered flag, when exhaustion and the distance traveled makes you softer; i smell the scent of good metal when she is hot just come in from a pratice session; i see myself on the plane headed for spain all meloncholy looking down at how small we are. Yes, my pulse beats, and i cannot wait to jump on and hit the gas. Its the time of all this and all the rest. finally.

Brigida has come to light. Thanks to all the spirits who put themselves in it. And thanks most of all to Brigida herself, to my sun, to my sea, to my land.