Exhaust booming, a 350cc Ducati/Taglioni Class rider leaves San Giuseppe on the last day of the Motogiro. Local citizens were always ready and willing to lend a hand if needed, providing water, shelter, or the occasional pushstart to aid their heroes. (Ph » More Photos

With average speed determined beforehand, keeping pace is critical. Ride too quickly, or slowly, and you're issued a penalty. Ditto if you miss a checkpoint. Each rider is issued a number, and in that order each bike leaves. To help, the organizers place red "Motogiro" arrows at intersections, and sometimes along a straighter route to confirm you're headed the right way. Never mind if a citizen rips one off as a souvenir or if the route is changed, the Giro rider must stay on top of it. Most of the race officials I spoke with turned a deaf ear to complaints, referring to the rule book for the final say. Tough? You bet. The Giro is not for whiners.

Vintage Class
Rider; Vicki Smith
Bike: 1957 NCR Ducati 175 Sport

Competing and finishing in her fourth straight event, Vicki holds the distinction of being the first women to ever compete in the Motogiro. "I hope to do this until they call it off," says the happy Floridian. "For me, the opportunity to ride a vintage Italian single through this breathtaking countryside in the company of such legendary men, is irresistible. The whole thing is so well organized and doubles as the world’s best vacation!" Vicki's bike? The closest thing to a Works machine here: "This narrow case Ducati is the third Motogiro bike Rino Caracchi of Scuderia NCR fame has built for me to ride. Mods include modern tires and carb, plus a 12- volt electrical system. The 175S is totally stable at speed, no worries whatsoever. I totally trust the machines Rino puts together." Smith joins other famous NCR luminaries such as Mike Hailwood, Paul Smart, Doug Polen and Bruno Spaggiari. Her biggest honor in 2004? "After the last leg, former GP star Remo Venturi parked the bike for me as a
I was awestruck."

The sun rises and sets twice before the Motogiro moves from scenic Palermo through Finale de Pollina, and the strain is beginning to take its toll. Inside, each luxury resort used to house the riders and staff twinkles festivity, but outside the lights burn deep into the night with the clinking of wrenches and the aroma of oil soaked rags. Silvino Puliti, the gentleman who owns my Turismo Rapido, explains the correct usage of the MV's tiny drum brakes. His English is as bad as my Italian, but using the universal translator (fear) we communicate. "Too mucha this," he motions, pushing hard on the rear brake lever, "you do-a this," moving his hand horizontally then slapping it on the ground. Er… got it. Except for a front rim that wobbles like a dollar store yo-yo, the MV handles pretty well. I've learned to squeeze the front brake until the bike is shaking violently, then release and power (?) through the corner. Leaving Corleone, the Rapido is blowing gobs of engine oil through its breather, covering my left leg and the rear tire and I worry if there's enough lubricant for six more hours of full throttle abuse. Adding sips during hectic stops and keeping the route, my spirits lift with Terrasini only 60 kilometers away. Then the rain starts….