Good old Moto Guzzi. I like when an entity finds its schtick and sticks with it. For instance: L.L. Bean and its eponymous boots, Grado and its phono cartridges and headphones (more on that in an upcoming issue of Motorcyclist…), and Antonio Benedetto Carpano and his Antica Formula (it’s a vermouth and it’s delicious). That’s just to name a few.
When a brand does a left turn, I don’t like it. To me, Guinness makes stouts. Don’t give me this Guinness Blonde nonsense. If I wanted an “American lager,” I wouldn’t be reaching for a Guinness, now would I? Talk about watering down your legacy.
So good old Guzzi. It’s stuck to its transverse-twin guns and the motorcycle world is all the better for it. Guzzi’s proudly arcane, consciously archaic, undeniably archetypal V7 is a balustrade of constancy in an ever-changing, carpet-pulled-out-from-under-you kind of world. I look at Guzzi’s mild obstinacy as a polite middle finger to a culture that praises the Elon Musks of the world while overlooking the Glenn Curtisses; a world that razes its own past to build a blandly uniform, supposedly brighter future. Guzzi cries “b—t” and hardly anyone seems to give a “s—t.”
Guzzi, to you we tip our Carpano aperitif.
Here, we take a look at the the V7 Sport of the 1970s, a respectful V7 custom, and one of today’s current V7 models.