Little Mv

LITTLE MV

Italian schoolboy’s dream, a rolling red-and-white tribute to MV Agusta’s grand prix dominance

I ADMIT IT. I'M SUCKER FOR A GOOD gas tank. With this 1960 MV Agusta 125, the latest addition to my eclectic collection of two-wheelers, I was a goner from the word go. Sniffing out a feature story, I came across the MV in Southern California's San Fernando Valley, one bike in a fleet of more than 300 owned by a gentleman with a serious affliction for sub-500cc Italian roadbikes. He wasn’t interested in the publicity a story would bring, only in paring down his collection to a more manageable level.

“I need to simplify my life,” he said, “so I’m selling off 75 bikes.”

One of the machines on the block was the MV. It sat rather forlornly next to a brace of small-bore Moto Guzzis, its once-radiant red paint faded to a dull orange, its chrome hazy, its tires brittle with age, 45,000 hard kilometers showing on its tiny Veglia speedo. On the plus side, all the sheetmetal was intact, no major components were missing, and it started on the third prod of its kickstarter.

And then there was the fuel tank. Thirty-three years had taken their toll on the paint, but the tank’s beauty still shined through. Its crowning glory was a peeling, barely discernible decal on top, a group of pennants waving in the wind, celebrating the 15 world championships Count Agusta’s GP roadrace teams had won through 1959, preAgostini. A great gas tank.

I came looking for a story. I went home with an MV Agusta stuffed in the back of the CIV van, my checking account " lightened by $1500.

A week later, the MV was in the hands of restoration expert Todd Millar (1333 Carmenita St., Laguna Beach, CA 92651; 714/494-2197). A one-time racer then restorer of Britbikes, Millar now specializes in bringing Italian machinery back from the dead. With the aid of partner Tom Rightmyer, a fabrication ace, Millar concocted the delicious Parilia 250 roadrace special that we featured in the September ’93 issue (see “Italian Renaissance”). He circled the weathered MV, sizing up the work involved in its resurrection.

“It’s complete; that’s good,” he said. “But you know that by the time I get finished with this, you’ll have more in it than it’s worth.”

I knew that, but I also knew that Millar and Rightmyer’s combined craftsmanship would be worth every penny. Six months after breaking the bike down to its spokes, Millar called to say it was done. From its headlight nacelle and dropped handlebar to its perforated Connolly leather saddle to its machined brass exhaust collar, this is a simply spectacular restoration. Whenever I look at the bike, I think only of its tight, clean lines, not the fact I’ve spent way more than market price for an obscure Italian tiddler.

I guess I’ll just have to hang on to the little MV for at least 10 years, maybe 20, waxing and buffing its lovely gas tank, until it accrues in value.

What a pity. David Edwards