The kid on the Valentino Rossi-replica scooter buzzed by the sidewalk caf so fast I barely caught a glimpse as he passed. Turns out I wasn't the only one not paying attention. Instead of the road ahead, the scooter jockey's gaze was glued to the rear end of my waitress-who, like most of the women I'd encountered since arriving in Bologna, Italy, was well worth watching. Meanwhile, as Mr. Rossi-wannabe was eyeballing her booty, his scooter was heading straight for the curb at 40 mph. An audible gasp arose from the other diners as he realized his mistake and barely-just barely-made the corner. Looking for all the world like a world-class Grand Prix racer, he dropped the scooter over onto his scrawny knee and carved a tight arc around the curb, glancing over his shoulder at the same time to make sure the waitress noticed his slick, race-inspired moves. So suave.
That's Italy for you, the most bike-mad country in the world, where even the lowliest scooter commuter rides like he's Max freakin' Biaggi. Don't be surprised. Italy is a country steeped in motorcycle culture, with an amazing racing history and a well-earned reputation as the source of the most serious sportbikes in the world: Aprilia, Benelli, Bimota, Ducati and Moto Guzzi are just a few of the bikes that come from the country shaped like a boot. In a land where motorcycle racing exists on a level roughly equal to major league baseball in the States, kids grow up very familiar with motorcycle sports. Rossi and Biaggi, not to mention Americans such as Kevin Schwantz and, lately, Nicky Hayden, are household names over here. Italians, in other words, get sportbikes.
You don't have to carry an Italian passport to appreciate this fact. It all became clear to me a few years back when I test rode my first Italian sportbike, an Aprilia Mille. The guy at the local dealership got me on the bike by swearing up and down I'd never experienced anything like the way an Italian motorcycle effortlessly straightens a series of tight S-turns, not to mention the addictive qualities of a high-revving V-twin. All it took was one brief test ride and I was out almost a half-year's salary and fingering the keys to the best grin-producer this side of a winning lottery ticket. Three years later there are three Italian sportbikes parked in my garage-I've since added a Ducati 916 SPS and, recently, an exotic Bimota SB-8R-with a fourth threatening to move in at any minute.
Why all these Italian stallions? When riders say there's something special about these tiny, uncomfortable, usually red motorcycles, they aren't just grating Parmesan cheese. Like Rolex watches, Courvoisier cognac or the Lamborghini Murcilago, Italian bikes are crafted with a passion unmatched by any other manufacturer. I've owned every type of bike-handmade choppers, vintage British caf racers, modern Japanese sportbikes-none of which manage to combine speed, style and sound the way my Italian V-twin sportbikes do. These bikes will make even the scrubbiest pizza cook feel like a big baller; that they handle curves better than a Wonder Bra only makes them more desirable.
When an opportunity came up this past fall to visit some Italian motorcycle manufacturers and see firsthand what special attention went into producing their motorbikes, I jumped on it. The first stop was the newly reopened Benelli factory in Pesaro. Under new management with an aggressive attitude, these guys are on the cutting edge of streetfighter styling with the new TNT, a bike that packs an arm-extending 1130cc into a funky, angular naked-bike package. Hitting some of the cueball-smooth curves around the Benelli factory on the wheelie-happy TNT, it was clear this bike was built by people who really ride.
After a street session, the crew at Benelli trucked us over to the fabled Misano circuit for some track time, but they might have warned us to pick up some gladiator-style armor before we mixed with the local racer set. Unlike track days in the States where riders are separated according to skill level and racing experience, in Italy you just roll. And if you thought the scooter crew could haul... Lightning-fast paisans with World Superbike experience were out there with Benelli engineers and 300-pound Americans who wouldn't know a race line from a strand of limp fettuccini, but nobody seemed to care. Italians just love to ride.
The production Benelli was certainly a bitchin' bike, but for my money (what little is left), the trickest bikes in all of Italy belong to aftermarket specialists Moto Corse in San Marino. I was especially blown away by a pearl-white Ducati 999 shop special with a handmade titanium exhaust system, carbon-fiber engine covers and wheels and a red velvet-covered solo seat. The machine is typical of the bikes this tiny performance tuning and streetbike styling house is known for, and it was hard to leave the place without emptying my pockets on trick goodies for my fleet back home.
Some locals have less success resisting temptation. While we were at Moto Corse we met Mino Colazzi, a local Ducati Monster rider, who was at the shop to add even more trick bits to a bike he'd already outfitted with $12,000 in upgrades. His M900 sported sticky tires, lightweight wheels, hand-hammered titanium pipes, all-carbon bodywork and a motor with a lightened flywheel, oversized throttle bodies and skimmed heads.
How did Colazzi pay for all this? We were surprised to learn he was a pizza maker by day, and didn't care if it took 30 years to finance his Italian bike obsession. After all, he's probably been dreaming of his own tricked-out Ducati since he was 6 years old. After a couple of days riding in Italy and soaking up its abundant motorcycle culture, this brother could definitely relate. I'm sure you can, too.
Now, if I could just figure out how these guys manage to keep at least one eye on the curb.