Homage In The Wet At Imola, Italy

Zagan the motorhome would have his fingers in his ears if he had any – fingers or ears – to block out the screaming engines of the very loud cars tearing around the Imola circuit, just across the river from him. He’s parked on a large patch of land (N44.34578, E11.71007) along with a small hut which houses a service point, so we’ll be filling up with water before we head off. We never know if taps will be on or off at this time of year.

This morning we awoke to rain, which was a bit of a surprise after the glorious sunshine we had yesterday. Not fancying Bologna in the rain we packed up and headed out, following the free motorway that goes around the city until we were back on the Via Emilia, or the SS9 as it’s known, and heading once more for the coast.

Spotting some reasonably priced diesel in San Lazzaro Di Savena (€1.18 – although we did find it cheaper further down the road – grrr!) we pulled in and filled up. Eagle-eyed Jay spied a self-service laundry tagged onto the side of the petrol station, and as it would be rude not to, I headed on in there to check it out. Everything was clean and working, so we parked in front of it, and had what is probably my shortest ever laundry lug, all of two feet from Zagan’s door to the laundry door (N44.47271, E11.40293).

As we don’t use campsites very often, we usually wait until the bottom third of our wardrobe is bursting with dirty clothes (so much so that we can’t get any more booze in there), then we hunt out a self-service laundry. Easy to do in France, as most towns and even some villages have them, not so easy in Italy. There are loads of lavanderia, but they tend wash it for you here, and as we’re rarely in one place long enough we prefer to do it ourselves. So this was a find for us.

An hour and a half later and we’re off again, driving through small towns and villages with the speed limit fluctuating between 50, 70 and 90 with little warning. Arriving in Imola we followed the signs for Tossa Corso (which has a small racing car next to it on each sign) and found our spot for the night. Zagan’s handbrake was barely on before the first ROAAAAARRR arrived across the river. Looking across to the other bank we could see fencing and spray, lots of spray as the cars charged around the track.

I know nothing about Imola other than it is home to the racetrack and used to host the San Marino Grand Prix. About the only thing I know about the San Marino Grand Prix is that it was where Roland Ratzenberger and Ayrton Senna both lost their lives over the race weekend in 1994. It seemed only fitting to pay homage to them while we were here.

Loudest car on the track – any idea what it is that is stopping Charlie’s afternoon nap?

Wandering across the bridge over the river we were surprised by how open the circuit is. There’s a public road or two running through it, and part of the infield is a park with sports facilities. The track itself is behind two layers of fencing, so getting a good view of the cars going around is easy, but to get a photo of them proved tricky. Wandering around we sadly couldn’t find anything to commemorate the life of Ratzenberger at the circuit – there might be something in the museum but we didn’t venture in there. However, it is quite clear where Ayrton’s accident had been. The fencing either side of the track at that point is adorned with flags, messages and trinkets and just a few yards further down is a statue of him.

He looks like he’s sitting in quiet contemplation on the pit wall ahead of a race, but if he were to look up he would be staring straight at the wall that took his life. I used to watch F1, not avidly –  in fact I have been known to nap through most of a race – but enough to know how much danger these guys put themselves in for our entertainment. So it was humbling to stand there looking at Senna’s statue, but also fitting to do so while there were cars going around the track, after all he died doing what he loved.

We made our way back to the outfield and walked along the levy that raises the track above the river’s flood plain. Slipping about in the mud and wet grass, we were forced to climb up and down it a few times until we got to the back of the wall where Senna was killed. Here there’s another plaque, hidden by the trees which have grown in the 22 years since it happened, this time showing his face and next to it a race track shaped like an S.

The point where Senna crashed is the wall on the other side of this fence – it’s a steep bank up to it as you can tell by Jay’s feet

So with the rain still coming down we headed back to Zagan for a warming brew. The town of Imola is probably less than a kilometre from where we are parked, but neither of us fancy it in this weather. We’re happy just sitting listening to the cars after visiting the home of Ferrari and Ducati, most of which were stationary.

Beautiful graffiti in the underpass to the infield

Ju x