Chased this model since new and it took me all of 25 years to finally find my pristine 1-owner example with 12,000 miles on it. I rode it for all of one day before disaster struck in my driveway. I’ve been piecing it back together for a year…
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Sport 1100i in Massachusetts
- Thread starter RossBz
- Start date
Ross(?), welcome to the Forum. I usually says congrats, but that is such a painful picture to see. Without knowing the story, I blame the BM-TroubleYou! I see a V7 Racer in your lineup as well, yes? Hope you'll add your info to each Registry linked below. Hope to see you here often, and stay warm and dry there in Mass!
Spine Registry & Pic Thread
This section had none, so it was time... enjoy. Post your VIN# and related on this thread, and I'll add it to below: MGS-01: VIN#ZGULRRA004M10009 - Adrian Dunham - Mangatawhiri, Auckland NZ - D.O.P. 07.15 - Pics HERE VIN#ZGULRRA004M10010 - Robin G. Sharman (aka GuzzBun) - Derby, England -...
www.guzzitech.com
V7 Registry & Picture thread -- ADD YOUR BIKE
Below is an on-going database of all V7 worldwide. Why? Just for the fun of it. If your bike isn't listed below, post a reply to this thread, and I'll add you along with a link to your post with a picture (hopefully of you and your bike, as they all look the same otherwise). If you've sold your...
www.guzzitech.com
BACKSTORY
I’m a motorcycle guy. I eat, sleep, and breathe motorcycles…always have…I hope I always will. If we’re sitting somewhere, and I’m staring off pensively in quiet contemplation, I’m probably thinking about riding motorcycles, building motorcycles, reading about motorcycles, or watching motorcycles. I’m a product of the Evel Knievel generation and I’ve been fixated since I was 4 years old. I got my first minibike at 8 years old (still have it) and I’ve been riding as much as possible for the 40ish years since. For all of those years, I’ve been slowly trying to assemble the perfect collection of bikes to cover just about every possible riding scenario as well as for maximum viewing pleasure when I’m sitting in my garage during the long New England winters.
For 25 years, however, one bike has eluded me. I read about it In the AUG2006 issue of Sport Rider when I was 25ish years old and it was the ONE. A 1997 Moto Guzzi Sport 1100i. Hand-built by what I imagined were venerable old world craftsmen with names like Giacomo or Ernesto – guys with a cigarette butt permanently affixed to their bottom lip while they spin wrenches in a black and white pre-war world…wholly incongruous to the neon Technicolor world of the 1990s around them – all done in Italy by a storied company in Mandello del Lario, on the shores of Lake Como. It was a company with a storied past, a cult following, and the exclusivity of a small Italian shop. It was exotic and beautiful and seemingly fast and I desperately wanted to own this machine.
In a strange twist of fate, I actually had the money to buy the bike, but nobody would sell me one. I drove to the Moto Guzzi dealership in my hometown - a little shop specializing in small European marquees and very little inventory - and told the owner that I had $15,000 in the bank and that I wanted to buy THAT bike. He laughed and assured me that, regardless of how much money I might have, I would NOT be getting one of those bikes. With all the derision he could muster, he informed me that only 200 were likely to make it to North America and, if he ever saw one, which he highly doubted, he wouldn’t be selling it to ME – a 25 year old squid with road racing fantasies. It would, instead, go to one of the loyal Guzzista who could truly appreciate this piece of mechanical art - presumably someone who wouldn’t thrash it. I’ve never forgotten that guy’s name and I’ve been waiting for my opportunity for retribution ever since.
Crestfallen, I drove to another dealer, 2 hours away, and was essentially told the same thing…more politely. There was no internet at the time, so my quest simply ended. I went to the local Honda dealer and bought a blindingly yellow CBR900RR instead; an exceptionally good sport bike, but utterly devoid of Italian charm and charisma…
I’m a motorcycle guy. I eat, sleep, and breathe motorcycles…always have…I hope I always will. If we’re sitting somewhere, and I’m staring off pensively in quiet contemplation, I’m probably thinking about riding motorcycles, building motorcycles, reading about motorcycles, or watching motorcycles. I’m a product of the Evel Knievel generation and I’ve been fixated since I was 4 years old. I got my first minibike at 8 years old (still have it) and I’ve been riding as much as possible for the 40ish years since. For all of those years, I’ve been slowly trying to assemble the perfect collection of bikes to cover just about every possible riding scenario as well as for maximum viewing pleasure when I’m sitting in my garage during the long New England winters.
For 25 years, however, one bike has eluded me. I read about it In the AUG2006 issue of Sport Rider when I was 25ish years old and it was the ONE. A 1997 Moto Guzzi Sport 1100i. Hand-built by what I imagined were venerable old world craftsmen with names like Giacomo or Ernesto – guys with a cigarette butt permanently affixed to their bottom lip while they spin wrenches in a black and white pre-war world…wholly incongruous to the neon Technicolor world of the 1990s around them – all done in Italy by a storied company in Mandello del Lario, on the shores of Lake Como. It was a company with a storied past, a cult following, and the exclusivity of a small Italian shop. It was exotic and beautiful and seemingly fast and I desperately wanted to own this machine.
In a strange twist of fate, I actually had the money to buy the bike, but nobody would sell me one. I drove to the Moto Guzzi dealership in my hometown - a little shop specializing in small European marquees and very little inventory - and told the owner that I had $15,000 in the bank and that I wanted to buy THAT bike. He laughed and assured me that, regardless of how much money I might have, I would NOT be getting one of those bikes. With all the derision he could muster, he informed me that only 200 were likely to make it to North America and, if he ever saw one, which he highly doubted, he wouldn’t be selling it to ME – a 25 year old squid with road racing fantasies. It would, instead, go to one of the loyal Guzzista who could truly appreciate this piece of mechanical art - presumably someone who wouldn’t thrash it. I’ve never forgotten that guy’s name and I’ve been waiting for my opportunity for retribution ever since.
Crestfallen, I drove to another dealer, 2 hours away, and was essentially told the same thing…more politely. There was no internet at the time, so my quest simply ended. I went to the local Honda dealer and bought a blindingly yellow CBR900RR instead; an exceptionally good sport bike, but utterly devoid of Italian charm and charisma…
However, I never stopped wanting the Guzzi. In fact, I’ve been looking for one ever since. For the past 20 years, I’ve closely monitored eBay, Craigslist, and most recently, Facebook Marketplace, but the closest I’ve come to buying one was a yellow one in Oklahoma a few years back. Sadly it was gone before I could work out the logistics of driving half way across the country to pick it up. Oddly enough, in all the riding that I’ve done in the ensuing 25 years - cross country road trips, rallies, races, Sunday morning ride ins - I have NEVER seen a Sport 1100 in person. Not once.
So imagine my surprise in April when I received an alert from Facebook saying that there was a one-owner original, unmolested, Sport 1100i for sale in northern Vermont. Within minutes of the alert, I contacted the owner and told him that I would be there, 4 hours away, the next day with cash, a trailer, and zero haggling. He was shocked. Apparently he wasn’t emotionally prepared for the idea of selling the bike. He had posted it - maybe hoping that there would be no buyers and he could continue to enjoy looking at it for another 20 years as a static display in his garage. I feel like I had to convince him that I was a worthy caretaker (which was clearly a lie) before he agreed to sell it to me. In the end, he acquiesced, so I emptied my “motorcycle fund”, grabbed a buddy, and we hit the road!
When we arrived at the owner’s house, the Guzzi was parked for maximum viewing pleasure; undoubtedly because he had spent the morning agonizing over his decision to sell. It was just as described and had racked up only 500 miles per year since new – no doubt due to the torturous racing ergonomics, the concrete slab of a seat, and bone jarring suspension best suited for only the smoothest of roads. I couldn’t care less about such things! After 25 years, I finally had the machine that I had lusted after as a much younger man and was told that I’d never have. Sweet victory.
We made the transaction before he could rethink his grave error and loaded it onto the trailer. I could see regret in the man’s eyes as we tied it down and secured it for the trip home. I knew that someday, hopefully decades from now, that I’d share that same feeling of regret as I watch Signora Rossa leave my garage. We are but caretakers…
So imagine my surprise in April when I received an alert from Facebook saying that there was a one-owner original, unmolested, Sport 1100i for sale in northern Vermont. Within minutes of the alert, I contacted the owner and told him that I would be there, 4 hours away, the next day with cash, a trailer, and zero haggling. He was shocked. Apparently he wasn’t emotionally prepared for the idea of selling the bike. He had posted it - maybe hoping that there would be no buyers and he could continue to enjoy looking at it for another 20 years as a static display in his garage. I feel like I had to convince him that I was a worthy caretaker (which was clearly a lie) before he agreed to sell it to me. In the end, he acquiesced, so I emptied my “motorcycle fund”, grabbed a buddy, and we hit the road!
When we arrived at the owner’s house, the Guzzi was parked for maximum viewing pleasure; undoubtedly because he had spent the morning agonizing over his decision to sell. It was just as described and had racked up only 500 miles per year since new – no doubt due to the torturous racing ergonomics, the concrete slab of a seat, and bone jarring suspension best suited for only the smoothest of roads. I couldn’t care less about such things! After 25 years, I finally had the machine that I had lusted after as a much younger man and was told that I’d never have. Sweet victory.
We made the transaction before he could rethink his grave error and loaded it onto the trailer. I could see regret in the man’s eyes as we tied it down and secured it for the trip home. I knew that someday, hopefully decades from now, that I’d share that same feeling of regret as I watch Signora Rossa leave my garage. We are but caretakers…
Yikes! What a shame about the dominos in the driveway. Talk about having all your eggs in one basket.
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Once safely at home, I immediately put the old girl up on the table, tore her apart, and set to sorting out the maintenance needs. I pulled the entire 7 piece stainless exhaust system for polishing, changed engine, tranny, and rear differential oils, and ordered a custom fuel map PROM chip from a fellow enthusiast in California who had likely spent countless hours dyno testing and creating his own fuel delivery profile that was known, amongst internet enthusiasts, to be the best. He laughed when I emailed him because he had done this quite some time ago. I suspect that he had to do some digging to find me a chip for a 25 year old bike. I also special ordered a set of hand made Italian exhaust pipes that are guaranteed to let this lady sing like Cecilia Bartoli!
While I was waiting for parts to arrive, I attempted to title and register the bike, but encountered an issue with the title. The gentleman in Vermont, no doubt rattled by his impending loss, had incorrectly check a box regarding odometer disclosure and it didn’t align with the Bill of Sale. The woman at the RMV turned me away and it took nearly a month to get a notarized affidavit from the seller.
After all the maintenance had been sorted and the paperwork put in order, I was finally able to ride this machine that I’ve fantasized about for half of a lifetime. On Friday afternoon, I set out for a hundred miles of twisty two-lane blacktop through the wilds of Western Massachusetts and southern Vermont.
If you’ve never been on a v-twin that’s capable of revving to 8,000 RPMs, you haven’t lived. Crisp steering, loads of cornering clearance, and a sound right out of Norse mythology, this thing revs like a tractor, but it pulls from just above idle all the way to the moon. Twin pipes booming, I spent the afternoon channeling my inner Valentino Rossi (I know he never rode Guzzis, but he’s Italian and fast). It was even better than I had always imagined. This might have been the pinnacle of my motorcycling life.
If you’ve never been on a v-twin that’s capable of revving to 8,000 RPMs, you haven’t lived. Crisp steering, loads of cornering clearance, and a sound right out of Norse mythology, this thing revs like a tractor, but it pulls from just above idle all the way to the moon. Twin pipes booming, I spent the afternoon channeling my inner Valentino Rossi (I know he never rode Guzzis, but he’s Italian and fast). It was even better than I had always imagined. This might have been the pinnacle of my motorcycling life.
Saturday morning and I was still riding high. I went out breakfast with the boys and regaled them with stories of high speed sweepers and WFO straights. I was so happy that I thought I might go home and take a couple photos…for posterity. I’d line up all my bikes and celebrate my tremendous fortune. A snapshot in time that I could look back on in 20 or 30 years as my glory days…
I realize that it’s a little gratuitous to line them all up like that, but my neighbors were all still sleeping and I figured nobody would see what I was up to and, at the time, I had no intention of sharing such a braggadocious photo. It was just for me.
I tried a couple camera angles, but couldn’t seem to get the shot that I wanted…
I decided to rearrange them
I realize that it’s a little gratuitous to line them all up like that, but my neighbors were all still sleeping and I figured nobody would see what I was up to and, at the time, I had no intention of sharing such a braggadocious photo. It was just for me.
I tried a couple camera angles, but couldn’t seem to get the shot that I wanted…
I decided to rearrange them
As I took the BMW down from the center stand, the rear tire landed in the expansion joint between the concrete slabs that it had been straddling. It hit the edge of one slab of concrete and it lurched away from me. I pulled with everything I had, but it just kept falling, in excruciating slow motion, towards the bike next to it. I held on from the side and rode it all the way to the ground, hoping with every fiber of my being that it wouldn’t touch the KTM next to it. However, it did, and while the second bike seemed like it might not fall, it hesitated for a second or two before also capsizing with sounds of crunching, scraping, and snapping. The world slowed to nearly a stop as I watched each bike tease me with false hope as it teetered and then succumbed to hateful gravity. One by one, I watched 20 years of my life fall away from me in a grotesque cacophony of discordant mechanical anguish as if each marquee was battling one another to see whose parts were stronger. The dominoes finally stopped when they encountered the immovable force that is Milwaukee iron. The Harley stood firm against the onslaught and thumbed its nose at gravity.
Still clinging to the BMW, I was dumbstruck! I finally stood up and proclaimed in my best Alec Baldwin impersonation, “So, that happened.” (Obscure movie reference from State and Main in 2000 - Google it!)
I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Gas was leaking from several bikes. There were broken bits everywhere. I was dumbfounded. I flashed back to the exact moment, just a few minutes before, when I was lining up the 3rd bike and had thought to myself “this is a really expensive row of dominoes”…and then, being an idiot, I had proceeded to add 3 more to the impending disaster. Nobody to blame for this, but me. I couldn’t even be mad. It was so terrible that all I could do was laugh - like a psychopath.
Still clinging to the BMW, I was dumbstruck! I finally stood up and proclaimed in my best Alec Baldwin impersonation, “So, that happened.” (Obscure movie reference from State and Main in 2000 - Google it!)
I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Gas was leaking from several bikes. There were broken bits everywhere. I was dumbfounded. I flashed back to the exact moment, just a few minutes before, when I was lining up the 3rd bike and had thought to myself “this is a really expensive row of dominoes”…and then, being an idiot, I had proceeded to add 3 more to the impending disaster. Nobody to blame for this, but me. I couldn’t even be mad. It was so terrible that all I could do was laugh - like a psychopath.
I went into the house and yelled to my wife excitedly “Hey, you’ve got to come see something in the driveway!” I was still laughing so she was expecting to see something funny…
She came out and initially it didn’t register. She just stood there gobsmacked; utterly astonished by the spectacle. Then my daughter, hearing the yelling, came out to investigate. She was also at a loss for words. Then they both started crying. So now, in the strangest turn of events ever, I had to console THEM!
Handing her my phone, I said “Here! Take my picture! Nobody is going to believe this!”
She countered “Are you serious, right now?”
“Hell yeah! I just lost $10,000 in 10 seconds. I, at least, want a picture of it!”
She came out and initially it didn’t register. She just stood there gobsmacked; utterly astonished by the spectacle. Then my daughter, hearing the yelling, came out to investigate. She was also at a loss for words. Then they both started crying. So now, in the strangest turn of events ever, I had to console THEM!
Handing her my phone, I said “Here! Take my picture! Nobody is going to believe this!”
She countered “Are you serious, right now?”
“Hell yeah! I just lost $10,000 in 10 seconds. I, at least, want a picture of it!”
After snapping a few pics of my disaster ( I wish I had taken more), I picked up all the bikes and surveyed the carnage. It only makes sense that the most exotic and rare of them took the most damage. My prized 1100 was no longer “unmolested”.
I rolled them all back into the garage, closed the overhead door, sighed heavily, and went off to clear my head doing non-motorcycle things for a few hours before further evaluation of the damage.
Incidentally, it seems that the only thing harder than finding a ‘97 Sport 1100i, is finding parts for the old girl. The only NOS tank that I could locate, after exhaustive Googling, was a black one in a shop in the Netherlands. I was prepared to hand over $1500 for it and then get it painted, but it was already sold. I guess it serves me right for chasing a 25 year old Italian motorcycle from a vendor that makes Ferrari look like Toyota in measures of sales volume and support.
I rolled them all back into the garage, closed the overhead door, sighed heavily, and went off to clear my head doing non-motorcycle things for a few hours before further evaluation of the damage.
Incidentally, it seems that the only thing harder than finding a ‘97 Sport 1100i, is finding parts for the old girl. The only NOS tank that I could locate, after exhaustive Googling, was a black one in a shop in the Netherlands. I was prepared to hand over $1500 for it and then get it painted, but it was already sold. I guess it serves me right for chasing a 25 year old Italian motorcycle from a vendor that makes Ferrari look like Toyota in measures of sales volume and support.
Less than 24 hours later, after scouring the internet for parts and becoming more and more despondent over my chances of finding anything that I needed, I came across a nearly complete ‘97 in the Detroit area. It was completely disassembled, but it had a fairing, a gas tank, and the mirrors that I needed. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to get my hands on some actual parts, I contacted the seller and bought the bike via PayPal on a Sunday morning.
At 2:00AM on the following Friday, I hit the road for the 12 hour marathon to Detroit. It should’ve been a 9 hour haul, but Canada is still closed to Americans due to COVID and I had to go via Ohio.
I reached his door at 2PM and, while the bike wasn’t nearly as nice as I had hoped, I loaded it up and drove straight home again.
This winter will be busy as I make repairs and spend a small fortune on paint and body work. In the end, however, Signora Rossa will be as good or better than new and we should have many happy years together.
Sadly, the original owner saw this story on the internet in a Moto Guzzi enthusiast group. He hasn’t contacted me, but I’m sure that he’s sickened by the whole ordeal. I feel like I’ve let him down. I can’t wait to redeem myself once the repairs are completed.
So that was my Father’s Day weekend!
At 2:00AM on the following Friday, I hit the road for the 12 hour marathon to Detroit. It should’ve been a 9 hour haul, but Canada is still closed to Americans due to COVID and I had to go via Ohio.
I reached his door at 2PM and, while the bike wasn’t nearly as nice as I had hoped, I loaded it up and drove straight home again.
This winter will be busy as I make repairs and spend a small fortune on paint and body work. In the end, however, Signora Rossa will be as good or better than new and we should have many happy years together.
Sadly, the original owner saw this story on the internet in a Moto Guzzi enthusiast group. He hasn’t contacted me, but I’m sure that he’s sickened by the whole ordeal. I feel like I’ve let him down. I can’t wait to redeem myself once the repairs are completed.
So that was my Father’s Day weekend!
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2008
- Messages
- 293
That is a sad story for sure. I feel your pain ( as Bill Clinton would say). I once bought a beautiful pristine Aprilia Mille while my wife was out of town and had it up on the lift elevated and managed to somehow pull the front wheel out of the clamp and dropped it on the hood of my wife’s car. I had some tall explaining to do about why I purchased a motorcycle without discussing the purchase with her and how it ended up on her car. I also had a hard time convincing the insurance company.
Hope you’ll add your VIN# and rest of your info on our Registry linked below.
Spine Registry & Pic Thread
This section had none, so it was time... enjoy. Post your VIN# and related on this thread, and I'll add it to below: MGS-01: VIN#ZGULRRA004M10009 - Adrian Dunham - Mangatawhiri, Auckland NZ - D.O.P. 07.15 - Pics HERE VIN#ZGULRRA004M10010 - Robin G. Sharman (aka GuzzBun) - Derby, England -...
www.guzzitech.com
Not sure what to do about pics. I can see them all on my screen. I’m not sure what it looks like from other users’ perspectives.
