By Randy Cobb I can’t help but write about our own experiences in Italy and at Mugello after reading the first person account by Joshua Steinberg posted in your July 5th News Listings: ~https://www.roadracingworld.com/news/article/?article=45153~ The wife and I were also experiencing Mugello as one event in our vacation. It was our first time in Italy and our first MotoGP outside the U.S. I first read Joshua’s account on your website while sitting at my sons house in Germany. He is stationed in the Army and the vacation was centered around a visit with him and his wife. The accounting of the Italy city life, driving, and the races as experienced by Joshua and Mixo brought our own recent experiences back to the front of my thoughts. Not that it needed to travel very far as ever since our Italy portion of our trip the memories of our experiences were always right there if I just closed my eyes. It was such an incredible experience that the visions, smells, and craziness was always immediately retrievable and will stay that close for quite some time. Joshua’s accounting of his arrival to Italy city life was identical to ours. The vibrant, chaotic pace of the culture was intoxicating. Contrary to their decision to rent a car on their trip, we elected to rely on trains and buses throughout our travels. This was a departure for us, but one we thought would provide a different perspective of European life. Our first stop in Italy was in the town of Bologna. As a Ducati fan, and an admitted ducatisti, it was only natural we include a visit to this city and the Ducati factory in our travels. Upon exiting the Bologna train station we were greeted with the chaos created by hundreds of scooters, a multitude of buses, an array of small cars most of which I’d never heard of before, and hundreds of bicycles. We stood there in awe of what seemed like a frantic and uncontrolled movement of all these vehicles. We later came to the same realization that this was all normal to the locals who traveled on their steed of choice smoking cigarettes and talking on their cell phones while dodging in and out of traffic and missing other vehicles by inches like it was all part of their daily routine, because it was. After 15 minutes of taking it all in, we finally brought our jaws back into their normal position and started thinking about figuring out which bus we needed to take in order to get us out of the city to our chosen hotel, close to the Ducati factory. It was then we noticed a tow truck hoisting a scooter and hauling it away. ‘Poor devil,’ I thought. Right behind that one, came another tow truck. I later realized that the lack of any laws or enforcement of driving was not also the case in the area of parking. While they didn’t mind people parking half on sidewalks, or facing any direction you wanted on either side of the street, they were obviously very concerned about blocking any entrances or paths of travel. And when I say paths of travel, you quickly learn that what looks like an alley, possibly for scooter use only, is indeed a street and can with an inch to spare on either side be an avenue for cars or even small city buses to traverse through. As we ventured through town on our first bus ride, we were lucky enough to have loaded up in the very front of the bus, standing next to the driver as the bus was packed with city folk as well as tourists going about their day. The bus was filled with Italians talking about who knows what but it all sounded so carefree and happy. Our position in the front put us in a perfect spot to observe all aspects of driving through the city and we were continually looking at each other in disbelief as the bus would turn down streets that were no wider than the width of whatever that dinky little car was in front of us. No way are we going to fit and as I would brace for an impact of taking his side mirror off, he would make it fit with literally an inch from the parked scooters on the side of the road. As soon as there was space, scooters would come zooming around the bus at the first opportunity with riders of all types. Young, old, and everything in between. Grocery bags slung from the machine, or briefcases over their shoulder, all segments of society were zooming around us like we were in an upset bee hive. The middle aged man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, with his flip phone jammed up inside his half-shell helmet, carrying on a conversation as he whizzed past us swerving instantly in front of the bus to avoid the car parked half on the sidewalk put it all into perspective”¦these people were absolute lunatics and everyone must have a death wish, but I loved it! There were no lines painted on most streets which meant wherever you could fit was open terrain within reason for allowing space for traffic going the other direction. I was instantly relieved we made the decision to not rent a car and subject myself to driving in this madness. It wasn’t until later in our Italy adventure that I started changing that view, although rather than a car I wanted a scooter to go blasting through the city with abandon, realizing everything was just one big obstacle course with no rules and no chances of reprisal from the authorities. I wanted to be part of it! Our trip to the MotoGP races was phase three of our Italy adventure after visiting Bologna and then spending four days on the coast. We based ourselves out of Florence as that was the location used by our tour-package provider, Pole Position Travel. Our trip to the Mugello Autodromo was via a big bus that contained all the tour customers from our hotel. It was Saturday as we had elected to only attend two days rather than all three. The excitement built with every mile as motorcycles and scooters of all types would fly around us on their way to the track. The arrival at the “Red Hat” entrance was like Christmas morning when I was eight years old! It was 9:00 a.m. and the activity was in full swing with cars and bikes entering the track and people walking all over the access road. The day was sunny and warm with a potential for thunderstorms in the afternoon. The previous day saw rain in the afternoon which we experienced while playing tourist in downtown Florence. Unlike Joshua and Mixo, we had General Admission tickets, with seats in the Poggio Secco grandstands. Our plan on Saturday was to walk and experience all aspects of the event around the track as we figured we would be in the grandstands most of the day on Sunday. I was somewhat disappointed when I learned our tickets and the set-up would provide us no opportunity to see our American riders or their bikes even somewhat close up. They didn’t want us General Admission hooligans anywhere near the paddock, and the high fences and coiled barb wire were proof. It was a surprise to learn Joshua’s paddock tickets didn’t allow him access to the “outside,” for on the outside we experienced a very different Mugello I’m sure. While the vendors were far less than what I envisioned after attending Laguna Seca every year, there were still a few along with all the merchandise vendors as well as the multitude of food and beverage vendors. Ducati was there of course with a small tent and examples of the current lineup on which you could sit, but they were the only manufacturer with a presence. We soon learned we would be getting our share of exercise as the track only had two entrances for us General Admission folks. Envision a horseshoe with entry/exit only at each end. The winding access road around the track would take someone a good 1-2 hours to walk depending on your pace. That’s without stopping. As we meandered around the track, stopping at vantage points every chance the track was visible, we were flooded with the Italy race fan culture. RVs and motorhomes parked everywhere making me think there was no method to the way they sell RV spots. I’m used to the organized way I’ve experienced here in the U.S. but there appeared to be none of that at Mugello. Most of the campers already had Friday night under their belt so discarded liquor bottles of all types accompanied every campsite with passed out race fans adorning the hillsides. There were tents occupying the remaining areas not suited for RVs filling every available spot. Ah, this was going to get good. Walking the road around the track was an adventure in itself. If I thought driving in the cities was dangerous, this was three levels worse. We immediately experienced a shirtless, helmetless race fan on a beater CBR Honda revving the engine to redline and holding it there as some sort of communication to other fans. It was the universal “Lets Party” sound to be heard all day long, and as I heard later, all night long, keeping anyone who wanted to sleep from doing so, to include the racers staying in their motorhomes in the paddock. Those without a bike, had their two-stroke chain-saw motors, sans blade, which they would rev full throttle for minutes on end. It was the universal Mugello call. After the beater CBR was done, he would drive down the very same road everyone was walking on, at a pace that made me realize I better pay close attention lest I get taken out. It was mayhem. Scooters and motorcycles of all types were traveling the access road in both directions, some politely, but most weaving in and out of folks with abandon just like they did in the city streets. I saw many close calls but miraculously never saw anyone get hit. Once again, evidence that Italy operates under a controlled chaos order of operation. It took us a full four hours to get to the other end of the road, stopping frequently to check out either on-track or off-track activities, and this was only Saturday. Sunday could only get worse, or more entertaining depending on your perspective with the additional crowds of race day. Race day arrived and we were once again dropped off at the Red Hat. We traversed up the road and entered the same gate so as to provide us the opportunity to circumnavigate the track again amongst the Mugello faithful and see the aftermath of Saturday evening. The evidence of another night was everywhere. Lined up beer bottles, an inordinate amount of trash strewn everywhere, passed-out fans, evidence of burnt things in the grass, you name it. The blow-up dolls hanging with a little less air in them from the day before, some now adorned with a variety of clothing, or writing I could only guess what it said. The evidence was clear that Saturday night at the track was an obvious party leaving a lasting fog in the heads of everyone who participated. Once in the grandstands and ready for the first race, the Rossi faithful were evident everywhere, not that they weren’t earlier, it’s just much easier to determine when they all get assembled on the hillsides and in the grandstands. The wife and I with our Nicky Hayden shirts were a bit of an anomaly but we were Ducati fans, and were wearing red, so were accepted gladly amongst our brethren. The races for Ducati and our boy Nicky didn’t turn out too well, but that didn’t stop the fans, or the announcer, from getting excited about any Italian, regardless of bike manufacturer. For that reason, Super Sic (Marco Simoncelli) and Andrea Dovizioso were getting a lot of mention. The announcer was a jovial one who we could only understand when he threw in terms such as “mama mia” when explaining a move by Super Sic or Dovi. It was quite entertaining. The day remained hot, especially in the grandstands but everyone seemed to enjoy the race. The afternoon rains didn’t materialize which provided good conditions for the racing all day. After the MotoGP race, and not so much paying attention to the screens showing the podium antics, everyone was gathering at the pre-dispositioned gates that would provide them access to the track. The days of cutting the fences and/or flattening them to storm the track are over, but only because they open the gates at various spots around the track to provide the Italian fan the opportunity to participate in the traditional post-race antics. All riders are safely back in the paddock garages before the gates are opened. Once the gates are opened, it was amazing to see all sorts of motorized vehicles emerge and start blasting around in both directions amongst all the foot traffic. Again, controlled–or is it uncontrolled?–chaos, but amazingly no one seemed to get injured. The walk from the grandstands to the exit was a shoulder-to-shoulder parade with motorhomes, cars, and two-wheel vehicles jamming the access roads with the hordes of bodies. We came across a small RV just parked in the middle of the road with throngs of people moving around each side, motorcycles and scooters squeezing around it, only to find the driver of the RV face to face with a guy in a car trying to go the opposite direction. The RV driver and his passenger were laughing hysterically realizing they were going nowhere and taking joy in the mayhem that was being caused by the predicament. Our weekend came to a close back at the hotel with memories that will last a lifetime. You never forget your first, and this was our first European GP. It was an incredible experience, and to reiterate what Joshua ended with”¦”The Italian food, the Italian fans, the Italian food, the Italian scenery, the Italian food, the Italian attitude; I love it all. Did I mention the food?” My advice to Joshua if he ever succeeds in his desire to camp at Mugello: Don’t plan on getting any sleep–and make sure you bring a blow-up doll to fit in!