Completely melted into the thing……

Posted on 21 September 2020

Carlos was, still is, an interesting personality. Nowadays he runs a Rolls Royce rental business..…he ditched computer science for arquitecture…Arquitects are prettier he said, but in reality he had a passion for design, balance, elegance and harmony…and gasoline.

Carlos used to dress certainly not like a motorcycle Steppenwolf, but more like an Amalfi Coast Tycoon, with impeccable trouser hand made by and obscure Italian tailor…

Arquitecture studies is a demanding mission, guess how he managed to sail the career and at the same time run a crazy side business selling Bassani expansion chambers and Guliari motorcycle seat to the Venezuelan messengers.

Late seventies in Venezuela where the crazy oil boom years. Anybody running a side gig could afford Christmas in Aspen…or better, in Cortina D´Ampezzo.

I met Carlos at the university cafeteria, talking motorcycles I guess. By then I was basically an off road guy riding occasionally my Ossa Pioneer when weather was fine and the car had a flat or something…

He happened to be my neighbor too, and the road leading to the University was basically a curvy mountain road more akin to the Isle of Man than to a boring trek to your alma matter.

And the road was exactly at my front door, so I knew who went by, at what time and speed. And the way back made my home an intermediate pit stop for playing dominos, beer and nonsense.

Carlos had a passion for exotic Iron and had money to spend….a lucrative gig and living at his parents’ house, no expenses, University in Venezuela is free by the way, so he could afford the wish list of the moment: A Kawasaki 900 that was quickly replaced by a Benelli Sei. One of only two that made it to Venezuela. That proved to be more a design creation that a practical tool….Utterly unreliable, but no less exciting and passionate….

The same Benelli dealer was at the time the Suzuki / KTM / BMW dealer…a hopeless drool trip destination.

On one of Carlos frequent trips to the service department, a brand new RS100 crossed his way…love at first sight, or more a tired effort looking for sound engineering and reliability.

And the RS100 was certainly an accomplished design exercise…

My house faced a right hand downhill blind curve of that TT like road, but I could hear the RS100 coming and suddenly Carlos coming out scarping everything on the concrete, sparks flying Giacomo Agostini style, wearing an Italian matte blue full face helmet, and his impeccable linen trousers, loafers and the carefully ironed shirt….no jackets, no leathers, zero protection, only sheer confidence and optimism…every afternoon at around 6 pm…Monday to Friday. The Wanderer would have been the ideal jacket for him. Balanced and elegant…

I wish I could ride like him. He was so unconsciously fast and precise, and always flat out lucky…I never knew he had an accident.  I was so used to it riding off road…

In the meantime I got my hand on a R90 Daytona, great bargain and huge fathers loan.

Street riding was new to me and utterly risky. To get the same adrenaline shot you get riding off road you have to multiply by at least three or four your average off road speed …

Suddenly one day I heard an unfamiliar sound stopping in front of my house. Carlos stopped by to say hello and show me his new irrational decision:

He ditched the RS100 for a Ducati SS900….

Now I didn’t understand a thing….Carlos loved the German precision, reliability, the electric starter and the balanced character of the elegant German flagship. Heck it was the most expensive motorcycle on the market at that moment….from the biggest motorcycle dealer in Venezuela. It was so Carlos like…

But a tiny motorcycle workshop, with a little fat Italian immigrant , started to import Ducatis and Moto Guzzi’s…at that time still obscure and unknown brands until the Le Mans 850 and the 900 SS appeared…

Life was never to be the same again…

The Ducati was a sensorial, irrational experience…no electric start, no air filters, no passenger pegs, no space for the sweetheart…rough, stiff, loud.  You know when something really touches your instincts you quit reasoning and you get obsessed with the object of desire…

Must be similar when men run behind the wrong woman…is not love, it´s seduction.

Quite a contrast to the sporty but civilized beemers…

Wonder how many of you recall that Goofy cartoon where he is a rational citizen and gets transformed when he jumps into his car…

Carlos doing the start ritual was seeing him transforming from the impeccable Arquitect, fashion and style conscious, to something that possessed, isolated him from the world  and was only around him, the Ducati and the ride….he completely disconnected and melted into the thing……

My last memory of the Ducati was of an epic excursion….Colonia Tovar is a small, remote Germans immigrant village turned into a weekend destination for Wurst and Blackforest cake…

But during the week, the 60 kms road is deserted, with heavenly maintained asphalt, fast and slow curves winding among the top of a mountain range with epic views to both sides of the mountain…

This Wednesday afternoon we had the intention of a leisure drive to the Colonia, have a piece of cake and a coffee and ride back…weather was perfect, time to spare.

Joined us a friend of ours, Wolfgang, who just bought a nice Yamaha 750 triple…shaft drive and all…in theory up to the task…

But Carlos and I we knew us…we promised not to go crazy and keep it safe and calm, and allow Wolfgang to settle down in his new ride….

Everything fine, until Carlos began to enjoy leaning further and allowing the Duc to exit the corner with the hypnotic sound…can’t blame him...I knew he was possessed….no space for rationality…

Seeing how the Duc got into corners, leaning into them effortlessly and with a railcar precision, and then opening the Dellortos fully to allow it to breathe….just seeing it from behind was quite  an experience. I was witnessing handling and power, while I was struggling with the “civilized” suspension of the beemer.

The R90 and me, we had a good relation….we understood each other and began pursuing the Duc…there is a single straight In the whole road, about half a mile long…the only time I saw the speedo was over 210 Kmh….which wasn’t enough to catch him….

That was a hell of a ride…certainly irresponsible but so damned good…

Carlos sold that Ducati and I left the R90 behind…Don´t know if we regret that or celebrate the things me made with those bikes.

But even today I remember every curve, every straight and the weird black tea with cake we had to celebrate that hormone filled jaunt…

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