My first experience with Moto Guzzi was the day a guy pulled up in our driveway about 1973. I was a very young man of 15 at the time, and had never seen a motorcycle quite like this one. Black and silver, fully dressed, with an unusual, smooth, mellow sound to it. Being the little pissant I was at that age, when the man on the bike asked for my dad, and I replied that he’d be right out. I had the temerity to say to him, “Bet that thing can’t do a wheelie.” Without a word, he pulled to the top of the driveway by the house, turned around and picked that front wheel up with seemingly no effort at all and rode that wheelie the full length of the 200+ foot driveway. He lowered the front end at the street, turned around again, and repeated the wheelie coming UP the driveway.  Withering like the complete fool I had proved myself to be, I retreated to the house and watched my father’s purchase of the bike proceed through the kitchen window.

It was a 1973 Eldorado 850 that my father bought that day. According to my uncle, the gentleman had had a BMW and the Eldo both for sale, at the same price and was keeping whichever didn‘t sell, My father liked the panache of the Guzzi better.  Dad loved that bike.

As a kid, I had watched my Dad rebuild a Triumph out of a basket case, only to be horridly disappointed when my brother dumped it in the field across the street and trashed it by sucking in a rock through the un-screened carbureutors before I got my turn to ride it. That was the last bike he had, and due to finances, and had held off on another until he bought the Eldo in late ‘73.

Over the course of time, I moved out, was out on my own for quite a number of years, and rarely went back to visit.  Dad had also purchased a piece of land in Maine about the same time as he got the Guzzi, and put his heart and soul into building the “hunting camp” on it.

He spent virtually every weekend running north, but in the summer he split running north with riding the Eldorado.

About 1980, as I recall, Dad had a couple of setbacks, and had to sell the Guzzi. I knew it disappointed him greatly. He was an extremely stoic man, and very rarely expressed his feelings, growing up in the depression and being taught that to show your emotions was a weakness, but I could see it in his eyes, he missed that bike.  He ended up selling it to a guy he knew a bit in the next town over. They weren’t close, but friendly, and he knew the gentleman was a “real bike guy” and would take care of the Eldo well.

Time passed, and in 1985, things had picked up, and Dad’s finances were back in shape. He decided to buy another bike, specifically another Eldorado and started hunting the “Want Advertiser” magazine, which was the forerunner of Craigslist or Ebay today. Every Tuesday morning, he’d get the first copy off the presses and hunt through it, looking.

One day, he found what he was searching for – a 1973 Guzzi Eldorado! It was nearby, so he called the number, and started to ask about the bike… “how many miles?”…. “how’s it run?”…. “any extras on it?”….. “how’re the tires?”…  Dad was a very particular man, and having been a truck driver, heavy hauler, rigger and machine operator, knew what to ask and what he wanted to hear about a vehicle. As his “interrogation” went on, suddenly the man on the other end of the line said, “Is this Frank Bernardo?”. Shocked, Dad said, “Yes.”  The man said, “ Frank, this is Johnny, you sold this bike to me a few years back… it’s your bike!”  Absolutely astounded, I watched as my father’s hand shook holding the receiver.  He said to Johnny, “Where are you?”  “The same house in Millis, Frank, take a ride over.” replied Johnny.  The old man was out of the house like his tail was on fire. The next day, the Eldo came home.

Dad was ecstatic. Of course, he groused and complained that “Johnny didn’t do…” and “Johnny doesn’t know crap about….”, but all in all, he was very happy with the overall condition of the bike, and just thrilled to have it back. He started using it to run up to the house in Maine, a three and a half hour drive (at the speed limit).  Seems he used to get there a bit faster on the Eldo…..

There’s a great story my uncle tells of the two of them heading up to Maine. Dad was a smoker, and often would set the throttle lock on the Guzzi, and light up a smoke, and ride with no hands on the bars while smoking. He had a big Windjammer fairing, and the Eldo would just cruise straight on with knee pressure alone, like a horse. Uncle Bobby was riding a R90/6 with some mods at the time I believe, and he told it like this….

”We were running north, up 95, just past the New Hampshire tolls. Your dad wanted a smoke, so he locked the throttle, lit up and we were just cruising in the slow lane doing 60-65 or so, minding our own. A couple of guys in a Lincoln came up next to us, and the passenger looked at your dad with no hands on the bars, smoking a butt, and started gestulating at him, making the “crazy” sign with his hands and pointing at him. Your dad looked at the guy, shrugged, showed him the smoke, and put his eyes back on the road. The guy in the Lincoln rapped on his window, made the crazy sign again and shook his head, inferring that Frank (my dad) was a wacko. Now, your dad was never a very tolerant man, so he looked dead at the guy, then at the butt in his hand, at the guy again, took a deep drag of the butt, transferred it to his left hand, put his left hand on the throttle, loosened the throttle lock with his right. Then he switched hands… gave his horn a short “beep” and when the passenger in the Lincoln looked over, flicked his butt at the window of the car, and punched that Guzzi, which took off like a rocket, leaving me and the Lincoln in the dust behind him.”

Dad’s two passions were the house in Maine, and the Guzzi.  He’d spend every weekend in Maine that he possibly could, and as often as not, ride there on the “goose” in good weather if he wasn’t hauling up supplies

My relationship with my parents had improved quite a bit by this time, as I had been out on my own and realized life was NOT a bed of roses, and that I wasn’t half as smart as I thought I was when I was 17.  One day, when I was at my parents, I got up the nerve, and said to Dad, “Can I take the Guzzi for a ride?”. 

Now please understand – my Dad did not share. His was his was his. Maybe his brother, Bobby… but not always… maybe his brother, Ron, but not likely. His “nickname” in the family was “god with a little g”, because it was his was or no way. So imagine my surprise, when he said, “Okay, be careful” and tossed me the keys. I was shocked! He was going to let me actually ride the Guzzi! I thought (and still do to this day) that he still felt bad that I never got a chance to ride that Triumph he rebuilt before my brother Frankie crashed it.

We went down to the garage, and Dad walked me through the controls – I had been riding various mini-bikes, scooters and dirt bikes for years already, and was currently riding a Kawasaki 175 as my primary vehicle. He showed me where things were and cautioned me about the “heel and toe” shifter on the Eldo, something I’d never encountered before. He talked me through it, sitting on the center stand in the garage, so I’d have a clue as it was quite different than the “rice” I had been riding. Seeing I had learned what I needed, he said, “Have fun” and went back into the house. I was happier than a kid on Christmas morning. I cranked it over, thrilled to have such a fine bike underneath me. Starting it up, I slipped it into first, (Heel, down!) and idled down the driveway, pulled in the clutch at the end, no traffic, slipped the clutch out, and went left up over the bridge over the tracks.

As I came down the other side of the bridge, I went for second gear. Clunk. What the HELL???? I downshifted as I approached the intersection.. clunk… Oh my god, I’ve screwed up the old man’s bike!!! What the hell was that clunking every time I shifted? Sh*t!!  I turned around and went back to the house. He heard me coming and came out the front door, “What’s the problem?”  “Dad, I don’t know what I did…. But every time I shift, there’s this huge clunk!”  It was one of the few times my Dad actually laughed at me. I was astounded! I broke his bike and he’s laughing!! He never laughs!!  I didn’t know what to do or say, sitting on the Eldo with my helmet still on. His laugh subsided to a chuckle and he said, “Dopey – it’s a shaft drive, it clunks when it changes gears. Don’t worry about it, get out of here.” And he turned and went back into the house. Shocked, speechless and subdued, I sat for a few minutes shaking my head. I hadn’t broken anything. It was just the way the bike was. It took a few minutes for the relief to get my pulse back down to somewhere near normal. I looked up at the kitchen windows and he was standing there, coffee and a butt in hand looking down at me, smiling.  I waved, and cranking the Guzzi back over, spun it around and out into the world.  

 I rode the Guzzi once in a great while when I’d be visiting. Once, a few years after I was married, my wife and I were visiting my mother and needed to run some errands. The Eldo was sitting in the garage, and our daughter Mia who was about 2 at the time was asleep upstairs. Mom said she’d watch the baby. Cheryl and I needed to run a couple of quick errands, so I grabbed the keys to the Eldo, and we took off. It was sweet to be two up on that bike. It was a beautiful sunny day in July.  We did the errands, and I turned north on Rte. 27, which had recently been redone. We got down to Bridge Street and the light was red with a car stopped. An elderly couple was in a Buick, and I knew they weren’t going to be going as fast as I might like, but there was a passing zone just over the rise. The light went green, and sure enough, the Buick casually moved out, getting up to a rousing 30 m.p.h., and going into cruise mode. We topped the rise, and the lanes were clear, so I cracked the throttle and ran around the couple in the Buick. Now, I didn’t ride the Eldo often, and very rarely “put the boots” to it at any time. I was quite surprised to look down and realize I was doing over 90 m.p.h.! I eased out of the throttle, and a mile or so down the road made the turn up the old State hospital road. As we came around the turn, Cheryl leaned over my shoulder and said, “Going a bit fast there, weren’t you? What were you doing, 60, 65?” Of course I agreed!!

At that time my parents had separated. God with a little “g” was a world class Don Juan, and my mother had enough and put her foot down. He moved out, and went to live at his mother’s house in Norwood. I didn’t see him terribly often, as we were living in Medway and busy starting a family of our own. Mostly at hunting season, or for the occasional family gathering.

Dad was never a big man, only standing 5’8” and barely 130 lbs. soaking wet, but he began to lose weight, and suffer from back pain. He thought it was related to breaking his back in the late 50’s when he was struck by a wrecking ball in a yard accident at work. Over the course of a couple of years, his symptoms worsened, until he was finally diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 1993. The doctors told him he’d be lucky to last three months. Of course, they didn’t know my dad. Stubborn was one of the nice things you could say about him. Regardless of the chemotherapy and radiation and the toll those took, he was still as hard nosed as ever, and no slower to flirt with the ladies. He lasted well over a year, but the cancer ate away at him irrevocably. I was at work one day in Needham, and got the call about 1 in the afternoon.

When Dad passed away, Mom decided that my brother should get the Guzzi and I should get the pickup. Now, Jerry already had 4 motorcycles in his garage, plus he lived in Victorville, CA. My brother and I both knew it should have been the other way around, but who’s going to argue with their Mom when their Dad has just passed away? Jerry arranged to have the Guzzi shipped west, and I drove the F150 home.

A few years later, I got a postcard in the mail. It was a picture of the Eldo, and on the back, my brother had written ”28 months, $3000, 2 nice!”. Here’s the original photo, below.

My brother just happens to be a world class helmet painter, and basically took the Eldo down to just the motor and frame, and with the help of a local Guzzi wizard named Buck, went right through the old girl, including redoing the paint himself. Of course, Jerry’s passion is dirt, and he spent more time on his various KTM, Suzuki and other dirt bike than the Eldo.

Our kids got to be 10 and 13 respectively, so we decided to go visit Uncle Jerry in CA for Christmas, in 1999. It was a great visit, he’d borrowed a couple of small dirt machines for the kids to ride, so a great time was had by all. At that point, he’d gotten a Suzuki 650 dirt machine for himself, and talked me into trying it. I had quit riding dirt quite a few years earlier, but went for a short spin. That thing was a beast! Much too fast and gnarly for me! One lap around the improvised track by his house was more than enough for me! Later in the week, he pulled out the Eldo, and I took the wife for a short spin around the neighborhood. It was a bit of trial and error getting used to that heel and toe shifter all over again!

In early 2004, I got a call from brother Jerry. We don’t talk all that often, being on opposing coasts, so it was a bit of a surprise. We traded pleasantries, and then he said, “I’m thinking about the Guzzi…” Interrupting him, I almost yelled, “If you’re thinking of selling the Guzzi, you better be talking to me first!” “No”, he said, “I’m going to GIVE it back to you”. Can you say “speechless”?  I certainly was! My lips were flapping, but nothing was coming out!

He continued, “I don’t ride her but maybe twice a year, she just sits in my garage and watches all the dirt bikes come and go. If you’ll pay for the shipping, I’m sending her to you, and I’ve even got the guy in the shop next door lined up to crate it and ship it, it’s only going to cost you $500.”  What could I say? “Thanks!!! Thanks!!!!  Thanks!!!!”

Three weeks later, I got a call from the freight outfit, saying they’d be delivering the next morning. My kids were excited and so was I. Sure enough around 10 a.m., the next morning, a white box truck pulled up in the driveway.  I went over the papers with the driver, and then he opened the back. Inside was a large crate with “fragile” and “fahq” (the name of my brother’s racing team) spray painted on the sides, Retrieving a pry bar and a hammer, I popped the back end of the crate open, and there she was. I dismantled the crate from around her, inside the delivery truck.

It wasn’t easy, those west coast boys did a heck of a job! After finally getting the crate disassembled, the driver and I rolled the Eldo off the truck, and parked it in front of the house. The kids and I stacked the remains of the crate, (a large pile of ¾” plywood and 2×4’s), in the garage, and I sent Anthony for a gas can to fuel the Guzzi with.

I checked the oil, the battery showed a good charge still. We fueled the gas tank, and when I cranked it over, she started right up! I rechristened her “FDB153”, in honor of my dad, and my brother Frank who’d passed away early. (153 was brother Frank’s “special number”). She had only 34,000 miles at that point in her life. I’ve since racked up another 10,000 or so in the 5 years I’ve had her. It would be more, but then again, we do live in Massachusetts, and are lucky to have 5 or 6 months a year to ride.

So that’s the story of “my first Guzzi”.  I just would like to again thank my brother, Jerry, for his amazing generosity, my Dad for everything he taught me, my wife for those moments when she says, “Get out of my hair, and go for a ride”.  Of course, if I’m “bad” to the Eldo, she’ll toss her points or something, and I know it’s my Dad, looking down saying “Dopey, cut the crap!”…LOL.