Starting grid for the inaugural Imola 200 Revival featured such racing greats as Steve Bak
Holy smokin’ racing rubber! I had been led to believe that everyone understood this wasn’t supposed to be a race. Maybe that was just a hopeful notion; a kind of disclaimer, circulated between organizers and fans to let the insurance guys breathe a bit easier. But let’s be realistic: Cut a bunch of professional racers loose—including a number of world champions—on professional-caliber racing machines and what you get is a race. The racers may be retired and the white-hot force-of-will to win may have cooled a bit, but such men remain capable of going very fast. The bikes—mostly 500cc Grand Prix and Formula 750 machines—are at least as capable. Like the men, their performance belies their age. They might not be MotoGP-fast, but the two-strokes in particular bring with them a certain violence that makes them singularly impressive and downright frightening in a way modern four-strokes are not.
So it was that on the afternoon of Sunday, October 3, 2010 at the Autodromo Internazionale Enzo e Dino Ferrari in Imola, Italy, Steve Baker came by on a Yamaha TZ750 (OW31) going like he was hell-bent on election. On the first lap Baker had opened up about a 1-second lead on similarly mounted Christian Sarron, who was giving chase like he meant business. Not far back, perhaps another second, Kenny Roberts Sr. on a Yamaha YZR500 (OW60) was clearly determined to stay in the hunt. In fact, most of the 36 starters hot on the heels of the lead trio looked damn serious!
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The media was out in force, Here, Venezuelan Johnny Cecotto is interviewed by an an Italia
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In Italy, Agostini is legend. Wherever he went, his legions of fans (and the paparazzi) fo
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Mob scene: With some 10,000 spectators on hand, Roberts et al were surrounded all weekend.
The inaugural 200 Miglia Di Imola Revival was underway. The spectacle was worth the wait and, somehow, pre-ordained. The 25 years since the last Imola 200—the shorthand by which it was known in America—dissolved in the intensity of these first few laps. We were drawn back three decades by a rush of real-time images that could have leapt off the pages of the magazines we pored over all those years ago. The time warp occurs quickly in this environment. But if the last impression you have of your racing heroes comes from those old magazine pages, it can be startling to get up close and personal 30 years later. Few of us become more beautiful with age, and racers pay a particular cosmetic price for all that adrenaline. But most of them are still in good shape. Thus suited up and mounted on invariably pristine, swift machines, they look awesome flying around the track as new and beautiful images form.
Roberts (2) leads fellow American Baker (32) and Venezuelan Carlos Lavado (3), all on Gran
Things settled down a bit in the early laps, as each racer found a pace that provided the greatest pleasure. Up front, that pace was still pretty fast. Sarron and Baker soldiered along. Roberts, with his own particular score to settle, drifted back to find Carlos Lavado. They rode together, wheel to wheel, going fast, trading places for the remaining laps. It was great to watch and the camaraderie was palpable: a high-performance version of what many of us experience riding with our pals. But with two world champions, it was different: They’re comrades-in-arms; survivors of a time when international roadracing claimed too many lives. These racing men had to be missing those who couldn’t join them this sunny afternoon in Italy.
Many of the racing fraternity were thrilled to be together at a racetrack to share so many memories. The camaraderie, the wandering back and forth exchanging words, laughter and photo opportunities continued until minutes before the start. Then things became decidedly unpleasant for Roberts. He returned to his Yamaha to discover that his helmet, placed at the ready on the bike’s gas tank, had vanished. We all assumed an overzealous fan—which does derive from fanatic—made off with King Kenny’s crown during the pre-race distractions. Roberts didn’t seem overwrought, but he didn’t seem especially amused either—until he spotted Lavado a few rows back unable to contain gales of laughter. Roberts burst out laughing himself before retrieving his helmet, vowing, “I’ll get you for that!”