A Fantastic Ducati Tour and a Taste of Bologna

Zagan the motorhome’s sat still all day in a free car park next to the Ducati factory at Bologna (N44.51571, E11.27288). We’ve not moved since yesterday, and this spot proved a good one as all the cars gradually cleared out leaving us all but alone by 8pm. The municipal grass cutters turned up this morning to give the place a spruce up, but we were already up and excited about today’s tour. After a bit of shuffling around so they could get at the grass under our rear end, we walked all of 5 minutes to the factory gates.

Zagan’s kipping spot for the night, a car park a few minutes walk from the Ducati gates in Bologna

I have no idea why, but motorbikes do it for me while cars don’t. The only theory I have comes from the first time I rode a ‘big’ bike – a 500cc machine I was loaned to learn on. The sensation of being astride the thing, after months of riding a 100cc bike, was one of unbridled power. A twist of the right hand, and the stars would blur as the thing leapt forwards, on and on, faster and faster, until fear finally took a grip and forced me to ease off. I could hoon around with performance cars 10 or 20 times the cost of the bike. Plus, I could nip through the queues on the way to work and back, and I liked that, all of it, except the winter of course!

Ducati museum, Bologna

That was the start. I called it a day riding bikes after a few years. Various bikes, numerous tracks days, a couple of races and a series of crashes. The fastest of which was probably about 90mph rounding Gerards at Mallory on a race practice session. I made an attempt to get my elbow down, as I’d seen on TV, and I succeeded! I also got everything else down at the same time. My butt sported a football-sized bruise for a fortnight, and my leathers, bike and helmet were wrecked, but I survived almost unscathed.

Maybe those old memories are why I enjoyed the Ducati museum and factory tour so much, even though I never owned one of their bikes. For €10 apiece, we found ourselves in a small English-speaking group, being led around by Maria, who’s husband works as a bike tester in the factory, and who knew her stuff. She explained to us how Ducati started pre-war, making parts for radios of all things, inspired by Marconi.

After the war, opportunity came in the form of a tiny engine which could effectively convert a push bike into a motorbike, and went down a storm with cash-strapped Italians. Ducati bought into the idea and started selling its own version of the bike, called a Cucciolo, Italian for puppy.

Ducati’s Cucciolo

Over the years Ducati have since produced some of the world’s most beautiful bikes, and have been racing them pretty much from the start, with typical Italian passion. I have to admit, quite how modern Italy manages to produce such masterpieces of engineering while at the same time, outwardly at least, cultural standards seem to be slipping, is a wonder to me. But then, over the centuries Italians haven’t seen the stability or prosperity the north-European countries have, and yet they have produced endless masterpieces. Go figure?

Foggy’s 916. Voted the most beautiful motorbike of its era, and still looks stunning 20 years on

They did have to learn along the way though. This ‘Apollo’ engine, made for the US market, proved so heavy the Pirelli tyres of the time couldn’t cope. The bike never made it to production, but instead Ducati cut the engine in half and moved on with the design, this time getting it right. Very right.

Being walked around famous machines of the past, right up to modern day MotoGP and World Superbike models, I was tearing up man. These things are just beautiful. Not so much the look of them, or even Ducatis as opposed to other makes, but just what motorbikes mean. They’re a mysterious, dangerous, adrenaline-pumping thrill. And a fabulous feeling of freedom, which I’ve since found I can get in other ways!

Ducati MotoGP bikes

Those MotoGP bikes above, are orange by the way. HD TV cameras make them look ‘Ducati Red’ on the TV, but in real life they’re a lightish orange. I’m thinking our camera’s also made them look redder than they are. Anyway, outside we went. I almost felt I was at a track day safety briefing before we went in the factory: no photos (stickers were stuck on cameras to remind us), no touching, no straying, don’t do anything. Inside we went, and I could understand why.

Fears of some sanitised ‘though the glass’ distance tour went with a waft of breeze as we walked right on in there, straight into the noise and action of an at-capacity factory. In amongst hundreds of crank and cam shafts, Maria explained all the parts arrive from suppliers in Italy finished, except these, which receive precision machine finishing in-house as they don’t trust anyone else to get it right. From there we spent maybe 40 minutes being led around. I jealously watched engines being swung around weightless on jigs, remembering how I’d struggled my way around mine on the rare occasions I dared strip them down. An hour and a half is all it takes to assemble an engine, and they can train someone to do it in a week. An entire bike, including the machining and an hour’s testing, takes between 7 and 10 hours to make. Wow. The factory can’t make them fast enough. I asked what happens next: “That’s up to Audi” she replied, “maybe we will have to work shifts, we don’t know”.

Written on the handlebar clamp of a round the world Ducati. Respect

Ducati assemble all of the bikes for the European and North American markets at this factory, so if you have one, it was born here. We stood and watched a newly-assembled machine being fired up for the first time. It took some starting, no surprise as it’d never had fuel in it before, but once it went the sound was booming. I think I now understand what it’s like for a farmer to birth a sheep! Incredible.

To get one of these, you need to be a world champion

Ducati’s best seller in Italy – the lower-end Scrambler. The cheapest one will cost you about £6500 new. Their most expensive 2016 bike, the Panigale R, comes in at just over £29000… Ducati employees can buy the bikes without VAT, so might be worth seeking a job there before buying? Full price list here

After the factory we were re-released back into the museum, just a handful of us, to wander as much as we wanted. Perfect. If you do want to come, you need to book in at least a few days before though. All of 5 minutes out of the factory and we were back in Zagan, grabbing Charlie for a nip into town.

Bologna!

If you come this way, you’ll be after the number 13 bus. Ask ’em at the factory, they’ll point you the right way. You can also save a few cents by buying tickets from a tabaccaio, and you then need to validate them with a machine on the bus. They let you take dogs on, or at least no-one stopped us with Charlie, we’ve got a bit native in not seeking permission.

Bologna has earned itself a reputation for, among other things no doubt, left-wing politics and food. For the former, it was rewarded with a terrorist bomb from Italy’s latest batch of fascists (yes, they do apparently still exist). For the latter, the nickname la grassa, ‘the fat one’!

I honestly don’t know what this means. Spotted painted on the university, I can only guess from all the red stars it’s supporting communism in some form

Italian partisans killed in WW2, a movement which lead to strong left wing support here

Armed police on the streets of Bologna – still an unusual sight for us over the years

Bologna in sunshine is a beautiful place. I say that with a slight lean backwards, since my initial impression was a shields up one. I lost count of the folks aggressively begging, maybe eight? Wielding a camera was just asking to be asked, I know. And yes, I know some of these folks need the money more than I do, but I don’t know which ones. I don’t know which have fallen on hard times, which are addicted to drugs, and which are professional beggars, so I don’t give to strangers on the street, not to anyone.

Ju’d done her research and gently steered me in the direction of one of Bologna’s famous towers, which you can climb for €3, and get stunning views out over the city. I climbed, since Ju drew the short/long straw the last time in Sienna. The climb was a lot of fun, don’t start thinking about the state of the ancient stairs or risk of fire, whatever you do! The views from the top are wonderful, it’s worth those 6 pints of Lidl lager to become a bird, up above the city.

Asinelli Tower, Bologna

Asinelli Tower, Bologna, a mere 498 steps up!

The next destination on Ju’s Bologna Tour was Trattoria Fantoni, a much-recommended eatery in our guidebooks and when we located it, apparently packed full. Young Bolognians were graduating today, sporting laurel leaves on their heads and either having a meal with parents, or getting hammered in the street outside the university. While the trattoria looked packed, the serious-faced chap being the bar, reminding me much of Jean Reno, gave an almost imperceptible nod to Charlie, yes, we could take our dog into the restaurant! Wayhey! In we went, grabbing a table for two and enjoying a very Italian experience, much of which we were clueless about.

Argghhh, this menu is in Italian. Ju deciphered it, including the horse meaty ones

Jean eventually mellowed and even started to speak English with us, telling me the Tagliatelli Ragu (spaghetti bolognaise to you and me) was off. Eh, it’s off, the city’s signature dish? OK, I’ll have this next one down. Ah, right, he’s now offering the second one down, with Ragu? No, he’s changed his mind, and is telling me I should have this one here. He’s the boss, I had that one. The same thing happened for desert – Jean suggested he choose something for us, which we of course let him. The food was all very good, although my sausages in white wine and spinach were the finest thing I’ve tasted since that pumpkin pasta a few days back (Ju won the meal-off with her primi by the way – a delicious smoked cheese and aubergine pasta). All washed down with half a litre of local red, the bill came in at €38.50. Our method of eating out is to try and make each time memorable, and this one will sit in our heads for years, on our hips too no doubt.

Charlie’s neck must be aching after that meal

Back home via a double-bus surprise journey, since we couldn’t find the #13 at first, Zagan was stood here safe and sound, and we spent the afternoon trying to not fall asleep. What a cracking day.

Cheers, Jay