part 5: at Ducati

a long, but not hard, day at the factory (I)

_______________________________________________

My pilgrimage was not to Mecca but to Ducca.

Actually, to Duca Mecca, or Ducati Meccanica, the “mechanical” side of a company that, back in 1926, was formed to produce electrical and electronic products that ranged from radio componentry to electric shavers.

I was hoping as well to meet a couple of people with whom I’d communicated throughout the planning for the pilgrimage. But whether blessed by schedules or not, here was the day, with the excitement of being on hallowed ground.

An easy bus ride from Via Paradiso (heading the list of regulations for passengers: “The waiting passenger, showing his will to board the bus, prevents the driver from stopping uselessly, thus ensuring a pleasant ride for all”) brought us to the gate, with other visitors waiting for the tours, in English or Italian. (Tours are free but require advance reservation. Watch out for the schedule, as in: our visit on Friday, Sep. 4, was still in the “summer break” and there would be no public factory-floor tour until next week.)

The museum is famous now, and not just in motorcycle circles. It’s a remarkable achievement to gather so many irreplaceable artifacts (cast-off worn-out racers saved from ignominy; world-renowned history-making bikes; and there’s only one Apollo engine in existence). In a tour, unlike an online gallery, the excitement and pride is absolutely palpable. Every inch of this place exudes pride and passion in what people do, what they make, and why.

On a tour, you have time and permission to look closely and see the pedigree of this lineage, from the sublime aesthetics of the innate Italian gift for design on down to the details, scars, and jerry-rigged repairs made under the pressure of a race meet.

Here’s a look at Mike Hailwood’s bike, from his comeback victory at the 1978 Isle of Man, after a severe injury in auto racing and something like an astonishing twelve years away from the sport. The odd round thing visible above Hailwood’s name is a split-open tennis ball, holding a small wet cloth, so that he could clean the Irish bugs off his windscreen . . . while at speed on the most dangerous road course imaginable!