I went to the local Triumph dealer and sitting on the floor was a Moto Guzzi Breva with just less than 10,000 miles on it. The asking ticket would be far less than either the Duc or the Bonne and the thing looked brand new. I’d driven a similar model a month before and was impressed by Guzzi’s ability to build character and personality into something that was simply a collection of metals, plastics and rubber. It sounded Italian, like an aria. It handled as well as my BMW, but its bucketed seating made the ride seem more intimate. Somehow.
Night fell. I took out the garbage and detoured past the black beauty to sit on her for a spell. I also did so between innings. And before retiring for the evening.
Church of the Open Road Press