In winter, southern Arizona is like the moon. There are no signs of life. The road along the desert floor is a mile high, winding between bare peaks.
I roll on the throttle to let the intake howl disrupt the still air. On a 2022 Moto Guzzi V7, rolling on is better than downshifting. The air-cooled 850 V-twin is modern, with perfect fueling and the right balance of power and torque. The gearbox — designed during the reign of Tiberius — requires more focus.
The Guzzi's break-in period is 17,474 miles. I know that because my son, Leo, and I have ridden it that far and it's just now hitting its stride. I bought the Guzzi to bang around Manhattan, cruise the Queens night markets, and never worry about parking. Meanwhile, out in San Diego, Leo had a car to make his way to classes at UCSD.
Ever try to park a car at UCSD?
The parking plan lasted a total of four weeks. In late October of 2022, I rode to San Diego to swap the bike for the car.
As I headed out for that trip, I wondered how many places the Guzzi could go. Turns out it will go anywhere. Vermont, West Virginia 50, the Ozarks, the high plains, Tucumcari — the farther I go, the easier the bike is to ride. It lopes along, never wearing me out. I remember a morning rumbling out of Holbrook, Arizona, into 29-degree weather, and ending that afternoon in Yuma, where it was 92. I heard no complaints from the bike on either end of the trip.
In fact, the Guzzi never complains.
It held up fine as Leo bombed around San Diego for a year. That's a twice-daily commute, lane splitting, with the occasional run up into the hills. The bike earns a set of Pirellis; Leo celebrates by scraping the pegs on every left-hand turn across an intersection. Eventually, he gets a bike of his own.
So: I try to ride the Guzzi home. I would have made it back to New York, except for the snow. Now I'm riding the last leg of my trip on Amtrak #176. How cold is it in Washington DC? One of the train doors is frozen open. Didn't stop the bike from starting, in order to dry things out before I put the cover on. Did I worry that the coolant might freeze, at 10 degrees, overnight? Trick question.
I started my return trip on California 94 to Old Highway 80, east from San Diego, and wound up getting my first look at the border wall between the United States and Mexico. The wall casts a strange shadow, as though a giant sliced the landscape like it were a wedding cake. I bear right and stay along the border for two days. The wall comes in and out of view, all the way to El Paso.
Somewhere along the border, a child's woolen mitten dangles from barbed wire. It's an image that doesn't fade. I spend the rest of the day considering how lucky I am to have been born here, and not anyplace else. A lot of people went to very great lengths so that I could ride my Guzzi around with careless abandon.
There's always time to think aboard the Guzzi. For one thing, you are never going that fast. Besides, the bike has a rhythm to it. The riding position is neutral, the seat is great, the torque curve is flat. It’s not slow — I can pass any semi on any two-lane road — but I cruise just over 70 mph, right where things smooth out. I never feel like I need to attack the road, or travel at the speed of light.
Guzzi days are easy. At the make-your-own waffle hotel breakfast, the morning news is all about the Supreme Court. I turn on my electric vest and motor away, contemplating how lucky we are to have a Supreme Court. I try to remember how Eugene Debs managed to wind up in prison for saying that World War I was a bad idea, but Larry Flynt had every right to make up comically obscene stories about Jerry Falwell. When I look up, I've covered 400 miles.
There's a reason most bikes were once shaped like a Moto Guzzi V-7. I take passengers on short trips. I can hammer down a gravel road, an interstate, or anything in between. The handlebar is wide, without feeling like a giant dirt bike. You ride upright, with your weight on the footpegs. The handling is entertaining — sure, more rear suspension travel would be welcome — but on the whole, it acts like a motorcycle. The Guzzi feels like something the Italian postal service might have used back in the day, to deliver telegrams.
My favorite feature is the throttle. I get to hold it wide open at least two dozen times a day. On the open road, it's like riding a Super Cub. My least favorite is the tach. Listening to the engine is all you need to get the most out of the 850.
I pull over to check directions in Burke, Virginia. It's 32 degrees and just getting ready to snow. A horrible buzzing sound comes from somewhere on the bike. I think, wait, does this thing even have a fuel pump? In its timeless Guzzi way, it almost seems like it has carbs. Anyway, it's not the fuel pump. An electric toothbrush buried in my duffel bag somehow turned itself on.
I can't convince anyone of the absolute genius of an air-cooled, V-twin, shaft-driven, dry clutch, standard bike — not even me and Leo. I have a new Triumph Tiger 900 and he has an old Honda VFR800. Somehow, our 2022 Guzzi rolls up a ton of miles, even though it isn't anyone’s bike.
Here, I will make the case that it's perfect:
If you were designing a bike to explore the world, you would make it simple.
You would keep the compression ratio low, so it runs on gas that was intended for last season's lawn mower. The tank would exceed five gallons, in case you find the part of the desert that has no lawn mowers (don't believe Google: the gas station in Animas, New Mexico, is open 24 hours; bring a credit card).
You would make the riding position perfectly neutral, the seat all-day comfortable, and the windscreen just big enough to not buffet your helmet.
You would make it so friendly that everybody smiles and asks about it, and at least one person a day says they've always wanted to see one in person.
You would make the engine rumble a little, then smooth out once you get going. You would remind everyone that a 270-degree-crank parallel twin isn't half as good as an actual 90-degree V-twin.
You would include: cylinder heads that politely offer up the valvetrain, so changing plugs and setting valves can be done by the side of the road; a dry clutch, so anything more or less like motor oil will keep the engine running; a shaft drive, which goes forever regardless of rain, salt, sand, or dust; a headlight brighter than the sun; a rack to lug your stuff; not enough street cred to get stolen in Manhattan; good looks. Charm? Yes. Fuel gauge? No.
There. It's perfect.
Now that it's broken in, I'm lending it to a riding buddy. He can park it next to his 1978 Honda CB550, and chide me that his bike has a kickstart.