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Some things are destined not to happen. No matter what you do, no matter how carefully you prepare or how far ahead you plan, fate will kick down your sandcastle. But if you’ve got a Moto Guzzi Le Mans, at some time or other you have to take it to its spiritual home. If there happen to be a few obstacles along the way, then it’s just part of life’s rich tapestry - to be savoured and cherished. I’d bought the Guzzi in a moment of irrational lust, to replace a written-off BMW as my pride and joy. The Mark One Le Mans was launched at the same time as I started riding (ok, mopedding) and cliched though it may sound, seemed to encapsulate all of my two wheeled desires. Well, it did if you ignore the paper-girl on her Moulton bicycle. The first few months of Guzzi ownership were a bit turbulent, mainly due to the bike having been stood for a couple of years in an Italian barn. Nothing that a substantial amount of tinkering over the winter and a few trips back to the dealer couldn’t fix, though, and by the spring of ’88 I was all set for a quick blast into Europe. The Le Mans 24 hour race was taking place over Easter weekend, so there was no need to book any time off work, particularly convenient as this was due to be a very busy time. I did take the precaution of booking my ferry tickets well in advance though, to be sure of getting the right crossing at the right time. Portsmouth to Le Havre, night crossings, sleep on the boat, short hop to the circuit; perfect. European breakdown and recovery insurance seemed a wise bet for a twelve year old Italian ‘thoroughbred’, so that was sorted out well in advance, too. I was so organised that I’d even got round to sending off for a ‘proper’ ten year passport. What could possibly go wrong? More... |
© 1998 Martin Gelder