A brand's survival depends on its image, its videos... what we call content creation! This is our way of staying in touch with you, our customers, without whom we would be nothing. Gf is very active in the vintage motorcycle scene, which is why we have so much content. We are present at major events, at motorcycle races and demonstrations, new motorcycle model trials or old model tests, garage visits and, of course, our collection presentations.
Indeed, there are many adventures, especially when you mix together motorcycles, girls, wasteland & beers. Here's the story of a photoshoot that went to hell and from which we couldn't produce the desired "content"... Is it a tragedy...? Absolutely not, because what matters is the pleasure provided and the memories that nourish us and transform our relationships and complicities forever.
Should we say that on that day all the conditions were met, when Frank Chatokhine, one of the best vintage riders, was on the job, that the hilarious Pierre-Alexandre Treust was at the handlebars of a motorcycle, that the pretty Célestine straddled a motorcycle like no other.... That the drinks were chilled and that friends showed up. Except that, on that day, nothing was simple, nothing went as written in the preparation file prepared by Audrey, my right-hand woman, and myself! You can doubt my "Bing-bang" type of organization, but not Audrey's!
To start, the Ducati Scrambler in the pictures wasn't the one we were expecting; Ducati no longer had a bike to lend us, so they sent us to a local dealer, who imagined we were going to take pretty pictures in a leisurely ride mode. Surprise: Frank disconnected everything in front of him, traction control and ABS, and he started to worry... The wheelie in the dealership parking lot liquefied him. So far so good, but upon arriving at the riding spot, Pierre-Alexandre Treust tells us that he bent our Flat-track the day before during a race and that the overnight repairs wouldn't last long: the axle holding the engine is broken, the footpeg is held on with an Allen key and adhesive tape, the fork seal is dead, and the fork triple clamps are completely out of whack!
The clouds coming from the Atlantic are heavy with water, black as night! We tinker, we patch, we drink... Especially the friends who are enjoying the bikes borrowed for this shoot a little further away; the dunes are tempting, the beach is an invitation... to the kind of stupidity that makes people stick chewing gum in hair, just for fun.
Sticking chewing gum in hair, we all know how to do it; riding like a pro requires a hint of madness that intelligence overturns... All this to say that the word to remember from this day that the devil gave us is "overturns"! Scattered and overturned motorcycles that need to be brought back!
And then in this ambient chaos where a Bonneville was jumping in the dunes, a 1200 GS learned to eat sand and we would never find the chain of a 500XT... I was on the verge of packing up and telling these idiots who call themselves my friends to go to hell, but I clung to the efforts of Frank, Célestine, and Treust to keep this shaky day, which deserved a water bomber, from falling apart!
And then it was Treust's turn with the 600DR to slide on gravel, burns, scrapes... I said stop, we smoked cigarettes and watched the sun paint silver swirls on the ocean as the rain began to wash away our vain sins. Frank straddled his Rickman, everyone sat down, a beer in hand, watching him do what we all dream of... For a few minutes, the beach became the stage for a dance between a machine, a man, and the sea.
... And then Frank's fall with the Ducati in a patch of soft sand at high speed, jump forward, knees in the handlebars, sprain and a lost deposit!
What should we remember from that day? The few images where Célestine dances gracefully in the sand, Treust "as happy as an Italian who knows he'll have love and wine," and Frank for gritting his teeth to give me some images I absolutely needed.
That night, in the villa we had rented, the sky calmed down; a red balloon, surely escaped from a child's hand, became entangled in the electrical wires, right before my eyes and under the declining light in an incandescent sky, I told myself that my life was like that balloon...? Upside down! (damn, I write like a girl)
Text and photos: Laurent Scavone
