"..I got my Mojo, don't ya know, I'm all dressed up and got no place to go"--I Ain't Got You, THE YARDBIRDS
All this talk about mojo cracks me up. I feel the true mojo exists not just in a stylish frame--an inanimate object. The TRUE mojo happens when man and machine interface as was the intent of that designer. Creating a Cremona violin is only half of the ying-yang. In the hands of a maestro, sending it's voices through it's body, the poetry of man and instrument....that is mojo. The master artisan did not make the violin to sit there to be admired. He wants it to sing to it's cresendo. Don't you think what really thrills the framemaker is seeing his creation, his RACING machine in the hands of a master. The mojo of the racer as he carves the turns at high rates of speed in a crazy American crit, descending down the Stevio Pass at 65 mph, groaning under the pounding of the pave of the Arenburg forest, the dangerous ballet of a massive sprint into Bordeaux, or the majestic harmony of pain of a Kilo on the boards... When you put your machine through it's paces, its limits, trusting your life in the hands of the creator, feeling the response to your subtle controls....man...that's mojo. Racing bikes were originally designed for that and not as wall art. Imagine the joy and pride Richard Sachs must have felt to see Johnathon Page win Cross Nats, to see his creation battle winds, rains, rocks, crashes, with the ultimate extension of the racer. That's true mojo. Some bikes feel awkward in your hands. Some feel like part of you. This is what--I think--the true frame artisans of vintage lightweights were after--the RIDE...the mojo between man and bike.
Giacomo "I think I need a cigarette" Bellora, FCVA
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