Prologue to the Great Motorycle Adventure

I arrive in Milan about 1:00 and the surprisingly easy meet up with my ride partners, Josh and Hank, at the giantic Milan train station presages the other opportune events that will characterize the trip, though Hank had a problem with the reserved rental car – the booth is closed and no one to be found (our first taste of business the Italiano way). But as would happen so often, our luck turns good (better), as the alternate rental car is a Renault Megane, which is way cool and a blast to drive.

After settling in at the Hotel Major, where Josh and Hank have been for a day, we decide we will scope out the key places we’ll need to know in order for the next two days to go smoothly: motorcycle rental agency and the racetrack. We found the m.c. rental place okay, though a bit concerned by its location, which seemed to principally be an auto junkyard. But we were just interjecting our Americn sensibilities on a landscape we were not familiar with as the place later turned out to be quite functional if not fancy, pretty much exactly what was needed to do the job, no more.

The notion of an exploratory trip to the racetrack in Mugello that Saturday evening proved quite foolish. Initially, we had discussed a rental in Lucca, near Pisa, and only 40 clicks from the racetrack. Now we soon realized it was like a two-hour drive, but wanderlust had struck and so we had to go somewhere, right? I had long ago fixated on a visit to Parma. That notion was borne of a slight but very entertaining novel by John Grisham about a failed and exiled NFL player who ends up there. The love affair with Italian food and food-centered lifestyle the author explores was really compelling and I hoped a personal visit would bring that to life for me.

As would often be the case over the next few days, the original goal did not necessarily pan out, but newfound surprises were even better. We did eat well in Parma, but just the usual osteria fare, though with a less usual drink - sweet lambrusco. However walking this little college town revealed a more profound insight into Italian life as we stumbled into a beautiful and immaculate public park that was pleasantly teeming with life at 7:00 pm. Later that evening we retraced our tracks through the park and witnessed a quaint military review, celebrating 50 years of the carabineri, complete with brass band playing –figure this JP Sousa! Very quaint, very pleasant and kinda set a nice tone for the start of our exploit together.

However our reverie was broken by a text message from Carol, advising us that the star we’d come to see at the races, one Mr. Valentine Rossi, had had the bad manners to crash in practice that afternoon and break his leg! His first major injury in over a decade of racing resulting in his first non-start in 230 consecutive appearances. We, or at least I, were not the list bit sympathetic (he was in no real danger). For this race, on his ‘home’ track in front of his home crowd had been pregnant with promise as his usual winning performance would allow him to regain the World Championship point lead (potentially his 11th). Damn that Valentino—we’d come an ocean to see him race, didn’t he appreciate that?

Nevertheless, it was up and off to the races Sunday morning. As the man racing fan in our group (through Hank had made an earnest and educating effort to familiarize himself with the 2010 MotoGP scene), I was the most disappointed as we headed to Mugello, but my despair was greatly assuaged by the excellent driving opportunities offered in the combination of the very capable and willing Renault sport wagen, the no speed limit autostrada, and about 40 clicks of outstanding curves and dips as we approached Tuscany through Bologna. Ho-ha, drive ‘em cowboy. My passengers were obviously concerned but thankfully agreeable, one advantage of a car full of machismo.

As we neared Mugello we were blown away by 2) the vast number of fans converging, and 2) the ever present beauty of the Tuscan hills.

The Tuscan countryside

All this and the good weather, though quite hot, how could we not have a great day? Frankly, as is often the case with spectator sports, the actual race was not as interesting as the people and motorcycle watching. A very different scene from US crowds and their machines, for sure. Particularly, the every-present Italian beautiful women who are never caught appearing out of style, some even wearing high heels with their designer cutoff jeans!

Only in Italy

And this being Italy, the racetrack food and beer was way above US standards. We almost missed the actual race, in fact, because I was so caught up in eating and had mixed up the Euro time designation, thinking the race started at 4:00 instead of 14:00! Thankfully, it was over quickly as I could hardly bear to see the pipsqueak Pedrosa win and the interesting-as-plain cardboard Lorenzo take second. MotoGP will be far less interesting when Rossi retires and that may be sooner than later.

Yes, real racing did occur, I think

But again we found great adventure in the unplanned as we decided to drive to Florence for dinner at the last minute. We came in from a secondary road, along with thousands of other race spectators, but when we stopped halfway down the mountaintop to view the ancient city from on high, it was truly magnificent.

Florence from above

The Domo, a bit closer

We stopped a bit further down and briefly enjoyed a small but terrifically tended public garden before gong into the ‘centro’ for margherita pizza and Margaritas! Carol and I spent several days in Florence last trip, hitting all the usual tourist haunts, so it was fun to be the old hand at Florence, show the boys around a bit, and then just chill in the ambiance of it all.

The hills of Florence

The big guys hanging above Florence, pretty happy with ourselves!

Not a drop of rain had fallen, but out good time did get a little bit wet when we hit the mother of all traffic jams on the A1 on the way back. No lie: stop and go for over an hour, never breaking 20 kph, and remember, the Megane, like all Euro hotrods, was a stick. When we finally broke free after Bologna, it was Katie bar the door n the way back as I hooked up with the freeway ubercars. MBs and the like, that were running hard in the left lane, flashing their brights and bumper hugging at 190 kph (118 mph). Delightful!

Our cool little Renault Megane Sportwagon

- 6spd diesel, 45mpg

Stupid American Camry lovers just don’t know what they are missing (in fact, I looked, but never saw a stinking Camry the whole week). Despite my best efforts to take flight, we got back late at 10:00