The highway signs in Europe never say East or West, only to the next town. If you don't know the sequence of towns, you are fucked.
As we blindly motored around the busy city, this red flash went by.
We were off like Steve McQueen, trying to catch this dude. You know a guy riding a
50's Guzzi will know how to get to Lake Como.
We trailed him, but could not overtake him in the crazy Italian traffic. Finally he stopped and took off his lid.
He was cool, but spoke absolutely no English, and we are not Italian. I eventually got the idea across and he gave us the sequence of towns we needed.
Motorcycles, being the universal language, became our next, wordless conversation. His bike is a 1952.
He even let Jake sit on it for size.
We said "Ciao" to him and his attractive MILF and made it to the factory around 3:30.
The shift was over so no factory tour, but the museum was still available.
The 170mph V8 Grand Prix Moto Guzzi from the mid 50's.
This is for my little brother who rides a Jackal.
Strange thing was that all of the factory workers were leaving the from the same parking lot we were in, none were riding a Guzzi. We did see many running around town. The locals had cool, beat up 70's and 80's models. The tourists had newer ones. I hope Guzzi survives the next few years.
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