Ann and Mark……English version

Mark in a cafe, who knows thing will do.
There is then someone who finds a motorbike you/he/she can be gone to the city.

Ann beautiful look doesn’t lose a dance.
I Mark whether to dance seems a horse…..”
Lucio Dalla (Ann and Mark)

“I have written “Ann and Mark” at night, as an owl, in the only moment in which ”
peace ” seems to win and the silence mantles every thing in a kind of spell.
Also the silence is a rarity.
Ann has encouraged me in this layout: “it will make pleasure to Mark. And also
to me.”
I have done better than mine.

“DrimDrim DrimDrim DrimDrim (telephone) “Ready?… …sì, glielopasso… ..prego.
Fabioooooo. Is for you. Telephone.”
I leave Beatrice, my nephew, together with his dolls and I go toward the
apparatus. “Hi Fabio. How are you? I am Ann…”. I immediately Realize:
unfortunately what is happened I feared and this phone call from Tuscany I
waited for a long time for her.
I will speak of two beautiful people: Ann and Mark. I will tell you of a sincere
friendship sprung by the common passion for this motorcycle, the Motorbike Guzzi,
whose virtue transcends every mechanical quality straight; I think about his
prodigious power that lets the people meets.
I won’t quote their true names. “Ann and Mark” it is the title of a beautiful
ballad of Lucio Da her in which, some analogy perhaps, exists. If you have this
song inserted her/it in the stereo: ascoleterete a poetry whose pour they tell
of”… .una motion to go to the city”. Bè, that motorbike was a Guzzi Falcone,
so many years fà.
If I don’t err our knowledge it goes up again to the 98 spring. I remember well
on bright Saturdays afternoon.
Eccolo, relives him/it.

I cross the government one of the Cisa in direction Parma-highway A1; I return
home after a brief vacation spent in the Tuscan coast.
Soon the sun will become on the mountains heavy and I will be at home to deep
night. Patience,…… .in I found I don’t regret to bathe in the dark together
with the great bright ” cone “. Have you traveled in motion at night never?
Pleasant E’.
In front of the fists on the handlebars there is a sinuous ribbon of asphalt in
which my Guzzi goes down to wonder from every side, free from any heaviness. I
am greedy under without peace of that fleeing grey-silver a palm to the feet.

Indescribable E’ the pleasure that sà to give a motorcycle. This motorcycle: a
California to injection. I have chosen this model pervaded by the doubts after
years of 1000 SPIIIs; with the time and the trips stò becoming a fervent
estimator of this motorbike that I repute to be one of the Motorbikes Guzzi more
” Guzzis ” you ever realize to Mandello. I would never go down from that saddle.

Here is the pass of the Cisa surrounded by the beautiful panorama of the
appennino tosco-emiliano. Numerous the motorbikes parked for a ritual standstill:
almost all super racings from the colors of war. There is as usual some Guzzis
and one of these mine it attracts “hit of eye”: it is one 1000 Spy color
brown-blù position of baggages, on the side purses the stickers of the conquered
places (there is almost all Europe), from every detail of his that motorbike
emanates the pride of so many trips lived to full breath. Quì I have to park my
motorbike.
I throw a glance to that speedometer: 90.000. on the saddle two helmets and one
have abandoned of them it brings on the back the famous motto of Kipling: “there
are only two types of individuals: those that are to house and those that are
not there”. Graaaaande!
The Guzzis have merits and defects, there is who reveres her and who the
disesteem, others are simply incuriositi of it: “toh… ..guarda, a gusiiiiii”.
Her motion of Mandello you/they can like or less but they always arouse
interest.
Often arriving in certain meetings of bikers I feel the looks incuriositi of the
armor-many colored ones, I have done us habit and straight the thing has a good
time.
And the Guzzistis? Oh… …i Guzzisti, those yes I am inconfondibi and I see of
it really two, now, to come I meet smiling. You will have understood: I am Ann
and Mark.
I don’t know how to hypothesize their age but they are not certain boys, perhaps
on the about fifty. They wear complete in black-brown skin from the style retrò
and theirs is an austere elegance that any mirror modaiolo has suggested. They
greet me as they make the old friends. We present: they are Tuscan, rather
Tuscan with that dialect that lengthens the words in it sing-songs and the ” H ”
puts to the place of the ” Cs “.
Mark is trimmed to zero on the head and as me malsopporta the despotism of the
helmet: ” zerohapellizeroproblemiiiiiiiii “. Ann brings the short ” hapellis ”
and a light makeup in the contour-eyes.
They embody joy in earth when their faces are illuminated in the so many smiles.
I am who knows husband and wife from how old. And they are very beautiful. We
enter together the cafe and it is born so among us a marvelous friendship.
When they reveal their age… ..non I believe it. Possible? 67 59 and he her. I
Mark with to make sibillino it discloses to me their elixir of youth: the ”
èlamotoguzziiiiiiiiii “.
I/you/they are known in the years 60 thanks to a Guzzi Falcone, “it seems
yesterday……” Ann says. Then the mythical V7 Special has come, the California
850, the 1000 SP and the actual 1000 Spy.
Their eyes seem ardent brands when they tell me of the as trips always lived in
three. In three? Yes, the third figure is her, the Motorbike Guzzi lived as a
loyal companion of trip: the ” èllultimamotociclettarimastaaaaaaaaa “.
40 years of love, of passion, of joy for the life. A beautiful human history. A
history of Guzzisti.
After the usual snack in the cafe we decide to travel together up to the Highway
A1. I invite Mark to serve as outrider: it is the thing better (I think), it is
not a ” boy ” anymore…… .il Marco, therefore that I/you/he/she am him to
prepare the walk.
Mark jumps in saddle and turns the key: Wrummmmmmm! Magic of Mandello! Ann
plants a foot in a stirrup and covering sù in a flash. I cannot imagine what it
waits me: I will sweat seven shirts to follow them!.
Ann and Mark with their Guzzi deny certain ancient preconceptions and the stupid
registry accounting.
Also the guide of a motorbike can express a form of art and these are two
artists: I see that loaded outline of baggages draw perfect traettorie and to
quiver away curve after curve with amazing simplicity, light of the brake is
rarely ignited,… ..quel seventy year-old boy drives from God favored to wonder
by his companion.
I have to labor not few to follow that two silver rings (the unloading) under to
the side purses. That reproaches and the undertows in the disconnected ones
remember to me the mythical V7 Sport of ” silèzi ” (silence) when it passed for
the regions of my country, in Romagna, in 73: it was black as the hell and
portentous in the rhombus. Only. All guessed her/it in distance. I wanted her/it,
I wanted her/it, I wanted her/it from great.
“Excuse me if I/you/they have been a slow po…..” Mark tells the arrival of the
A1. To the face of the slowness! Be tired! Anymore I have seen a similar talent
again. To the dusk we greet there with a handshake: me directed toward
Bologna-Ancona, them in opposite direction (a ” jump ” in Switzerland).

We are found again later there some months among the hills of the Chianti for an
unforgettable beefsteak to the Florentine sprinkled with a world chianti-red.
Then still together in the Delta of the Po, again in Tuscany in Garfagnana, and
still in Maremma. Beautiful weekends spent in the better style Guzzista: good
table and so many kilometers. I would have liked to know Ann and Mark a lot of
time before.
It goes up again to the autumn of 2000 our meeting (the last) more cheerful…
tormented ..e.
They are to the Footstep of the Muraglione between Forlì and Florence: mythical
place of meeting for about ten bikers in every weekend. Among the Asian
arlecchinume of integral overalls and meteor-racing it sprouts an unmistakable
low rhombus for my ears: rhurhurhurhurhu…… .è certainly a big Guzzi. Here I
her/it, but… …è him! Rather them! Them three! That wandering rider and his
dame emanate an as triumphal as severe austerity. The two cilindronis Spy
alettatis of that 1000 seem two towers, the pipes bumpers sparkle to the sun,
the side suitcases and the purse-reservoir they boast of about ten trophies of
trip. In front of them a regal carpet of admiration and spontaneous respect it
is stretched. What a spettaaaaaaaacolo!.
Here is the ” style ” Guzzi. And that is a true Motion-Guzzi: an unusual
motorcycle, imposing and from the strong visual impact, the ” guzzone “! I Feel
to climb in me dismay to ventilates her/it perspective of a “compact -V –
reduced to 75 degrees cooled to liquid…..” .Che folly. Make
smaller-compact-Cofanare,… ..possibile that is not succeeded in thinking to
other??
All wink, they smile, they point out, and they ask: “but who are those”? I tell
You ” Thing ” I am: BIKERS. And there that is a Motorcycle. The last remained.
Guradateli well.
E’ a scene already seen: in many they are approached to that heroic loaded
guzzona of baggages and humanity and they observe her/it with amazement,
curiosity, they seem to ignore the conception of the to travel in motion.
When Ann and Mark cross my smile…….. ” FABIOOOOOOO “!. we embrace There with
the joy of the babies. Ann is always her. I Mark instead…… .mio Dio, is not
Mark anymore: it is pale in face, the neck dances him in the shirt while its
eyes are extinguished, inactive, they seem to not to see. To finish this trip,
for him, it is an enormous enterprise. We stay together with long tormented by a
commune conscience incoffessabile: it is our last meeting. I Mark it is not well.

To climb on the motorbike looks for the help of Ann and finally in saddle, with
the big breath, I see him a drop to race down from the face… ..forse a tear.
Ann smiles me melancholy. Mark allows to me this way: “CiaoFabioooooGuardaquiiiiiiii
L’ èl’ultimarimastaaaaaaaaa”. Wrummmmm! Clock of the before: street. I see them
decrease…… .scomparire in the last trip. Lultima turns.
“Peeeerò,… .mica badly” I feel to my shoulders in seraphic tone and sbotto: “you
are able him/it well to say”!.
I reflect on the marvelous gift of the life of which we are often unworthily
irresponsible. A knot to the throat attacks me with vehemence, I have the
trembling chin, I feel the eyes be flooded, laboriously I restrain.

At times I feel the to ask because of my being Guzzista and I always answer with
a smile not finding the words to define a passion, a way of a style of life that
unites so many people as Ann and Mark. We are us: the people Guzzista.
Certainly that I am Guzzista! What other should I be? Does another motorcycle
exist this way? No, it doesn’t exist. We can only find of better or worse, but
nothing similar.
Eh yes, my friend, can say up there also it, among the angels, that it is “the
last remained motorcycle”. E’ a heroic truth.
You have gone to the sleep…… …via as the feather of Forrest Gump. You were
very beautiful.
Soon I will phone to Ann and if you want I will bring her yours (our) regards.

You always flash to V.

Fabio Baldrati (Ravenna).

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