We missed the Goodwood Festival of Speed this year by going to Mugello. The Gran Premio d’Italia though, seems a much better candidate for the title. There are many reasons to go to Mugello, but the racing is only one of them, and plays quite a small part in the weekend for many race-goers. It is a mad, anarchic, beautiful, ridiculous, frenzied spectacle – a modern equivalent of the mediaeval Palio horse race that takes place in the main Piazza of nearby Sienna. For day before the Palio, the competing ‘Contradas’ (the ancient city wards by which the city is divided) parade the streets in flags and costumes. Similarly, the grassy slopes and woods of Mugello are invaded days before the race by the motorcycle contrade who display their fervour with as much noise and spectacle as they can.
One enthusiastic crew had brought along a crashed Honda four of unknown pedigree and vintage from which the exhaust had been removed. All weekend, this was fired up and bounced off its rev limiter by a permanently slightly inebriated fan. He always had a beer can in one hand and a held the throttle delicately between thumb and forefinger of the other – as an orchestral conductor might hold the batten. He then played his instrument to the gallery, his huge grin betraying the obvious delight in his talent. Discretion forbade me speculating how long it would have lasted if the engine was say a Ducati 750SS engine. Anyway, it seemed to last the whole weekend.
Not content with having to stow an old motorcycle in your camper van, just to ‘play’ to the crowd, there is always the ‘portable combustion engine’. Individuals roamed the crown with these: chain saws, sans chain, chain bar and silencer. Miss the banshee wail of GP 500 Two-strokes? Cop a load of this then.
The whole thing would be a UK health and safety exec’s nightmare or an American liability lawyer’s dream. The track is encircled by a nicely tarmacked track a little wider than a car. This is the best way to walk around the track. As long as you don’t mind the bicycles, sportsbikes, scooters, cars, and out-of–control supermotos. Oh and of course the wheel-chairs. It’s a total zoo. Amazingly though, it seems to work and no-one gets hurt.
Unlike for qualifying, when once again the rain descended on the MotoGP 2011 Party, race day dawns clear and it is soon hot. Exposed in the Poggio Secco stand we brace for a long day – 5 hours in the direct glare of the Tuscany sun. However, it never gets overwhelming. Eddies of cooler air stream around the track from the surrounding hills. Hot to race though. The Moto2 round gives us a cracking race, and the reasonable proportion of Brit fans in the stand (Easily second in representation to the Italians. Amazingly, there also seem to be more Yanks and Australians present than say Germans & French for instance.) cheer on young Bradley Smith to his third podium in three races. At times he leads the race as the leaders constantly swap. In the post-race interview he looks so flushed and pink – like an English schoolboy on an exceptionally hot sports day – except that he has just led a massive field around a track with a temperature in the 120 deg. F’s at the front of arguably the most competitive field of bike riders in the world. (Moto2 is flat-out, no holds barred, and do or die competitive – unarguably more dangerous than MotoGP).
The main act starts like a circus. At the first sign of Valentino, yellow flags wave, a parade of yellow clad clowns in dark wigs chant in the stand, and the air is full of yellow smoke and firecrackers. When he waves to the stand, the crowd erupts. But did I detect that ‘SuperSim’ Simoncelli got very nearly as big a cheer from the stand – albeit more raucous and somewhat less – what is it? Respectful? The more bad he is, the more the Italians love him. He’s probably actually somewhat embarrassed by this. Dovizioso’s reception however is a muted cheer - actually mixed with a few Boos. Our taxi driver (who of course had tickets for the race) had explained this the previous day. Italians are looking for 'heir to Valentino’, and Dovi, is quick, but doesn’t race like Rossi. So they already consider him dismissed (something they might have had reason to re-consider later). Whereas SuperSim has potential. At least he’s a fighter.
Stoner streaks away with a commanding pace. No-one in MotoGP at present races with his committed body language. In fact, building up a big lead in the race again, I did wonder if he had overdone it in the heat. If this was F1 he would have eased off, but it isn’t and I really don’t think he knows how. Hence when Lorenzo started clawing back ground off him I was surprised and not surprised. ‘Oh, he’s cooked his tyres’ we guessed, but I was surprised it was Lorenzo who pounced. Events of this year had served in my view to put Lorenzo back in the pack with the rest of them and his ‘heir to Rossi’ posturing and contrived stunts were looking irritating. I have to say, I loved it when Spies showed that he could do even better on the bike Rossi developed for Lorenzo, but I also have to say that Lorenzo showed the benefit of his economic, ultra smooth riding style when he sliced past a hapless Stoner with surgical ease. On the day, he’s a cool customer, and he rode a masterful and calculating race. I must say that it was a far more eloquent answer to Simoncelli than all the criticism he ever voiced, SuperSim struggled to get near the top three in the race and actually had a super-cool ‘take that Super’ pass inflicted on him by Spies.
When Dovizioso also got past his team-mate Stoner, the crowd forgave him and yelled like they never meant it before. Rossi, got a cheer too – and to be honest he deserved it. Qualifying poorly (why does he almost always do that – whatever he rides?) in 12th, he battled the back/mid-fielders to get to a creditable 6th that was nevertheless a country mile behind the leading pack.
And then it was all over? No, not really, that’s when it all starts. In a glorious act of complicity, the authorities then open the gates for the all important track invasion. I imagined fans with Rossi flags running onto the tarmac, eventually ushered off my Marshals.
What we got in fact was a surreal parade of two-wheeled humanity. You name it – it was happening. Here’s an R1 tearing down the track piloted by riders in nothing but shorts – its exhaust replaced by a huge two-into one megaphone the size of a bucket. A father and young child cycle slowly past in the opposite direction. Someone does the most perfectly balance wheelies – on his scooter with his girlfriend on the back in her bikini. To be honest his performance is better than some of the Moto2 guy’s post-qualifying efforts. The pandemonium goes on for the next hour, no-one intervenes or worries – and again -no-one seems to get hurt. Only in Italy. . .
And then of course, there is Florence. You have to be a hard-hearted petrol-head not to love Florence - something not just for the missus - and where we stayed just 40 minutes from Mugello.
Are we coming back? You bet. Only this time we’ll skip the package tour, the coach and the Ryanair flight. The makings of a road trip are already fomenting: Across the channel, blat down through Germany, maybe roll up at my old mate Jimmy’s for the night in Frankfurt. Into Switzerland and maybe cross the Alps into Italy through the Stelvio pass.
Maybe call in at Franco’s in wonderful Pavia near Milan, from which it will be a shortish scoot to the sultry Tuscan hills. Rent a villa? Ride to the circuit on the Ducati? It’s a must. Interested? Let me know courtesy of the blog.