My parents bought me a mini motorcycle when I was 11 years old. We spent countless Sundays on the race track. I was denied a moped at 14 because considered a nutcase (in my old age now I understand why). But at 16 I received a Cagiva Mito, not because I was more mature, but because it was the same as my dad’s 748 (what a beautiful chassis!). I have always lived this passion of mine considering its more sporty side, the track or the mountain pass in a full suit are my style. Of course, taking quiet, carefree rides happened very frequently.

I don’t consider myself a hardcore Ducatist. I grew up around Ducatis because my father had owned only Ducatis since I was born. This justifies the romantic side of my choices today. The practical side, on the other hand, comes from the conformation of the engine.

The L-twin is very narrow, which helps keep the whole bike tight, you sit on it and you don’t realize you have a big engine between your legs. In addition, the torque at low rpm, the sound of the engine, the dry clutch, the roughness and vitality of the mechanics all contribute to the emotional side. In general, it is very close to my idea of the perfect motorcycle, very light, responsive, mean, raw, mechanical, and snappy; not necessarily with 1,000 horsepower.

I always tried to give an intellectual coherence to what I was doing; in the case of motorcycles, the priority has never been: “is it beautiful?” but “does it meet the concept I want to communicate?” Of course, beauty matters! If a concept led me to design something that was more like a water heater than a motorcycle, I would try to modify it, but in general the basic thrust was and is more ideological than aesthetic.

Basically, I like to call myself a Futurist. When I read Marinetti’s “Manifesto of Futurism” for the first time, more than a decade ago, I understood it immediately. The “city rising to the sky” and the “destruction of the cult of the past” for me became elements to be clearly and distinctly supported. It’s easy to see how, in the world of custom motorcycles, where vintage leads the way, we can come across as not too likeable or quotable.

The idea then of creating futuristic motorcycles, inspired by the graphic style of “low poly,” imagining as a setting a dystopian Blade Runner-esque future for them to live in, and, in part, the provocation of rowing against the tide, constituted an opportunity too great not to try.

The very concept of the kit, repudiating the philosophy of the “one off” motorcycle so much in vogue; the triangles that minimize the curves giving only an idea of what the shape “could be but is not” arouses emotions. Whether they be of disappointment or approval honestly matters little.

– Vyrus has been my dream since I was 10 years old. A handmade, high-tech Italian niche motorcycle powered by Ducati… a paradise!

I would look at her again and again, as the years went by, she remained fascinating, unobtainable, impossible, mysterious and absurd.

Then the 986 came out around 2012, Honda-powered… an alien.

I like aliens, but personally I have never seen one.

I fell madly in love with it.

Along with the former, however, the 984/985/987 series, those powered by Ducati, had not been touched since 2002/2003, and the line was beginning, while still beautiful, to slightly feel the weight of the years.

An idea started to make its way into my head but I was not yet aware of it.

In the summer of 2017, while I was stuck in traffic on the Milan ring road I thought, “Why don’t I try to redesign the 984? I want to bring an alien to life, too”; besides, what could be more futuristic than that?
Just then I heard an unmistakable sound of a twin-cylinder engine, and in the emergency lane I spotted a gray Vyrus passing by.

I took it as a sign!

The fact that some people would have objected to this venture (rightly so, by the way, because I actually agree with them, a Vyrus should not be touched) convinced me even more to go for it.

Giorgio Cerrato