[DeTomaso] Taming the Targa Florio (NPC--long)

[MikeLDrew at aol.com]

Hi guys,

Over the years, I've been fortunate enough to have opportunities to drive on 
the world's greatest race circuits.   Besides West Coast tracks like Laguna 
Seca and Sears Point, I've been able to sample the best Europe has to offer 
including Silverstone, Imola, Monza, Hockenheim, Spa, the legendary Nurburgring, 
and numerous smaller tracks.

But for the past couple of years, my travels have been almost exclusively 
work-related, leaving few opportunities for adding to that list.   Afghanistan 
and Iraq are both rather lacking in the race track department.

However, providence has once again smiled upon me, in a wholly unexpected 
way.   After suffering extensive damage to the landing gear on my C-5 Galaxy 
taking off out of Afghanistan, I was forced to camp out for a week in Turkey while 
the damage was repaired.   With that done, I took off heading for Spain, but 
then the entire navigation and instrument system completely fell apart, and I 
was forced to make an emergency landing at a U.S. Navy base called Sigonella, 
in Sicily, and it was quite obvious that I would be stuck here awhile.   (So 
far it's been another full week, and we hope to get going in a few days).

When most people think of Sicily, they think of Don Corleone and “The 
Godfather”.   But when people like us hear of Sicily, there is only one thing worthy 
of consideration:

The Targa Florio!

The Targa Florio is (or rather, was) the world's longest-running open road 
race, and the last true 'road' race as well.   The race was started in 1906 by a 
wealthy driving pioneer named Vincenzo Florio.   He was the head of a 
prominent Sicilian family who were involved in numerous lucrative activities, most 
notably the exportation of Marsala wine.

In the dawn of motor racing, there was no series championship and each race 
stood on its own.   Most were named for the prize that was given to the winner 
(such as the Vanderbilt Cup, Gorden Bennet Cup etc.)   Florio had already 
founded the Coppio Florio (Florio Cup) race in Brescia, so for the race on his 
home island, he chose to create a thick curved metal shield, or Targa, as the 
award.   Hence, Targa Florio.

(As an aside, Porsche had great success here in the 1960s, and commemorated 
this by naming the open-top 911 the Porsche Targa).

The race was held on public roads, which were nominally closed for the event; 
the roads were extremely tortuous and twisty, climbing almost 2000 feet into 
the mountains before plunging back down to the Mediterranean.   The first 
course incorporated some 150 km of roads and consisted of three full laps.   A 
shorter, 108 km loop was used from 1910 to 1930; races until 1925 consisted of 
four laps and five laps were used from 1925-1930.

The final course was settled upon in 1932, and ran a length of 72 km (about 
45 miles).   Called the “Piccolo Circuito”, it began on the SP 120, just north 
of the small seaside town of Cerda, about 50 km east of Palermo.   The race 
ran right through the town on the main road, then climbed up into the hills, 
clinging to the side of a steep volcanic mountain, with a broad valley below to 
the left.   After reaching an elevation of more than 600 meters (2000 feet), 
just outside the town of Caltavuturo, the course made a sudden turn onto the SP 
24, and plunged down into the depths of the valley along the Rocca di Sciara, 
utilizing a series of switchbacks and sweeping corners, then crossed over a 
river and climbed steeply up the other side of the valley.   Clinging to the 
side of Monte Fanusi, the road then slowly descended towards the town of 
Collesano, which boasts ancient paving-stone streets and an impressive church.   The 
route then turns onto the SP 9, and flows down a gentle valley to the small 
seaside city of Campofelice di Roccella.   After passing through the center of 
the city, the route turns due west onto the SP 113, and the cars rocket down a 
straight stretch along the beach that is more than four miles long-much longer 
than the straight at Le Mans.   After a mile or two of curves, the route then 
rejoins the SP 120 and immediately leads to the start/finish line.

It is an extremely challenging course, and depending on whose count you 
believe, there are anywhere from 300 to 700 corners on each lap!

Here is an excellent three-dimensional representation of the Piccolo Targa 
Florio course:

http://members.aol.com/mikeldrew/PiccoloTargaFlorio3D.jpg

And here's a 'planimetrio' that shows a kilometer-by-kilometer breakdown of 
the course, and the elevation changes:

http://members.aol.com/mikeldrew/TargaFlorioPlanimetrio.jpg


The nature of the course prevented a side-by-side start; instead it was run 
as a time trial, with the cars being flagged off at the rate of one per minute. 
  In 1955 the race was added to the World Sports Car Championship, and was a 
points-paying event until 1973, with most races consisting of ten laps of the 
circuit.   The FIA rightly determined that the speeds had become too great and 
the course was just too dangerous to race on anymore, and it was dropped 
after that year.   Regional races were held through 1977, and then the circuit was 
retired.

Castrol made promotional racing films in the 1960s, and they shot an 
excellent film of the 1965 Targa Florio.   This film appears in two parts on Youtube 
(go to www.youtube.com and search on “Targa Florio” and it is the first video 
that appears).   I have watched it numerous times, enthralled by the idea of 
the Porsches and Ferraris and a lone GT40 Spyder being pushed to the limit on 
this twisting, sinewy course.   There is also an outstanding video on Youtube 
of Vic Elford pushing the Ferrari 312PB to its limits, including much in-car 
footage.

Faced with a broken airplane and time on my hands, I was determined to 
experience this legendary, epic route for myself.   To that end, I made arrangements 
to rent a car.   But what to rent?   Well, it had to be Italian, of course.   
My options were a Fiat Panda (a total crapbox of a city car) or a Fiat Punto. 
  A friend owned an older Fiat Punto, and for a hatchback, it was quite 
impressive.   It had a small motor, but the turbocharger gave it a terrific punch, 
and the handling was amazing.   So, a Fiat Punto it was to be for me.

Unfortunately, with the passage of time, the Punto, like virtually all cars, 
has grown fat and bloated.   Basically an Italianate VW Golf, the four-door 
hatchback was substantially larger than I had hoped for.   To meet current crash 
standards, the A-pillars were the size of telephone poles, effectively 
blocking a considerable amount of forward vision.   And it felt noticeably ponderous 
and heavy, especially compared to my 1900 lb VW Sciroccos that I am so 
familiar with.

Nevertheless, I had no other options.   So I climbed in, noted that there was 
virtually no kilometerage on the clock (the car was just two days old) and 
soon I was on the Autostrada heading towards Palermo.

The roadway was generally in good condition, with two lanes in each direction 
on separate roadways, and very lightly trafficked.   Although it had a 
nominal 130 km/hr speed limit, that seemed to be routinely ignored, and there was no 
evidence of any sort of speed enforcement.   “When in Rome…” I always say, 
and to that end I simply planted my foot on the floor and let the car go as 
fast as it was capable.   Climbing a gentle grade, the engine spun at a heady 
5000 rpm, indicating 160 km/hr, or right about 100 mph.

Initially the road passed through rolling country, dominated by the 
snow-capped Mt. Etna to the northeast.   Everything was a somewhat pale shade of green, 
and the land seemed exclusively dedicated to agriculture.   As the road 
started climbing, rocky mountains began to dominate the skyline, and the sun gave 
way to a high overcast.

The road passed through a series of tunnels and short bridges before emerging 
on the other side of the mountains.   As the road went straight down the 
length of a deep valley, I noticed something odd.   Rather than being built on the 
ground, the entire length of the road was built on an elevated viaduct 
structure, which was basically a long, long bridge about 20 feet off the ground 
(varying some as the ground rose and fell in relation to the roadway).   I have no 
idea why they chose to build this structure for miles and miles, rather than 
just build the road on the ground.   It seemed like an excessively expensive 
way to build a road?

Eventually I arrived at the exit for Cerda and pulled off the Autostrada.   I 
immediately discovered I was on the SP113, which formed the main straight of 
the course.   I was on the Targa Florio!   But I was unsure as to how to find 
the rest of the circuit.

I knew that the starting line was located very near the Cerda train station; 
upon coming across the station I stopped and got out of the car, looking for 
signs of it.   From the aforementioned Youtube videos I knew that there was a 
large concrete grandstands and a timing and scoring building on the right side 
of the road, and a concrete structure incorporating the pits and garages on 
the left, but saw no sign of it.   Oh well.

I got back into the car, and a quarter of a mile later turned onto the SP120, 
following the signs to Cerda.   A few hundred feet up, I was amazed to find 
the road passing underneath a rickety metal footbridge, and then right in 
between the grandstands and pit garages, with a huge mural of the Targa Florio 
hanging from scaffolding in front of the timing and scoring building (evidently 
undergoing renovation).   I parked the car and spent a few minutes looking upon 
these structures that I had seen so often in books and period films of the 
various races that were held there.

I then continued and found the road immediately became extremely winding and 
twisty.   Even though there was no traffic, speeds were restricted due to the 
nature of the road.   The spacing of the gears in the gearbox was 
unfortunately wide, with 2nd gear too short and 3rd gear too tall.   The anemic motor 
lacked the grunt to pull the foam off the top of a cup of cappuccino, so clearly 
progress was going to be made by maintaining momentum.

Doing so was initially difficult, because the obtrusive A-pillars prevented 
me from adequately seeing where I was going on left-hand corners.   I soon 
developed the odd technique of leaning forward and to the right to look to the 
left when approaching corners, a job made easier by the seats which had a 
distinct lack of lateral and shoulder support.

Cornering power was limited by the obvious bulk of the car, but the tires did 
an admirable job and stuck well, sliding predictably with a gentle hiss when 
approaching the limit, and a dramatic howl when the limit was exceeded.   The 
brakes were simply fantastic; in fact they overpowered the rest of the car.   
It was all too easy to shed enormous amounts of speed instantly, and all too 
difficult to regain it.   Too, the brakes were so powerful (overboosted I'd 
say) that it was impossible to heel-and-toe.   The spacing of the pedals wasn't 
conducive, and such a light touch was required on the brake pedal that it 
couldn't be used as a fulcrum to rock my foot and blip the gas.

Fortunately the clutch was light and the gearbox was a dream; as this was a 
front-wheel-drive car, there was no real need to heel-and-toe anyway.   
Downshifts could easily be accomplished by just slamming the box into gear and 
lifting up on the clutch pedal.

So, while coming to grips with the limitations of the car, and learning to 
adapt my driving style to suit, within just a few miles I entered the bustling 
town of Cerda.   This was a scene of chaos, as there were cars and 
three-wheeled Piaggio delivery cycles going every which way, old men with berets and canes 
shuffling in the middle of the street, and an imperious-looking pair of 
highly decorated police officers standing at a corner holding little round paddles 
with dots in the middle, apparently flagging down the most egregious 
transgressors for a bit of a talking-to.

After a stop for some photos I drove up the road through the city.   Looking 
at the buildings which face right onto the road, I was amazed to think that 
race cars would rocket up this street at speeds approaching 200 mph with 
spectators lining both sides of the street!

The road left the town and started climbing.   Initially the speeds picked up 
and I found myself buzzing against the rev limiter in 3rd gear a few times, 
but for the most part the road flowed from corner to corner.   I was prepared 
for surprises (such as the blind decreasing-radius right-handers that 
periodically would crop up) and thus I wasn't pushing nearly as hard as I could have 
been, and was only lightly brushing the brakes, to set the nose for turn-in.   
The surface was somewhat rough and uneven, and although the chassis was doing a 
good job of soaking it all up, it was apparent that this course would be 
extremely hard on a race car engineered to run on a billiard-table-smooth track, 
and its understandable why so many cars would fail to finish due to literally 
falling apart.

I noted with a slight sense of disappointment that the entire length of the 
road was lined with what appeared to be brand-new guardrails.   Although I can 
certainly see the benefit in so equipping this particular road, much of the 
romance in my mind stemmed from the fact that this treacherous piece of pavement 
was lined, for the most part, just with small concrete markers every few 
feet.   The presence of the guardrails thus spoiled that image, but on the other 
hand, they did allow me to drive with slightly less circumspection than I might 
have otherwise.

After a few miles of steady climbing and twisting, there was a big warning 
sign (a BIG warning sign) telling of a rough patch of road ahead, and advising a 
20 km speed limit (that's 12 mph!).   Sure enough, the road became even 
narrower and dramatic whoops and dips appeared.   Combined with the sharp corners, 
it ceased to look like a racetrack, and instead took on the appearance of a 
three-dimensional autocross course.

With a rock wall on one side and a steep drop on the other.

A half-mile after the end of this particular section, I had a bit of a scary 
moment.   I was flying up a short straight with a few undulations, and a sharp 
left corner at the end.   There was a fairly pronounced hump just prior to 
the corner, and it was obvious to me that at the speeds I was traveling, I would 
get slightly airborne at that point.

I wasn't bothered by this; I planned accordingly and began my braking a bit 
sooner than I would otherwise.   I was modulating the braking in an appropriate 
fashion and was fully prepared for the moment when the car left the ground.   
What I was NOT prepared for was the sudden, uncommanded acceleration that 
took place afterwards.

This was yet another vivid demonstration of why I thoroughly despise modern 
cars.   Even though I was fully in control of the situation and was modulating 
my braking appropriately, when the car went airborne and the wheels 
momentarily stopped turning, the ABS system interpreted this as a skid, and responded by 
fully releasing all four brakes at once!   When I landed, I thus found myself 
appearing to accelerate (when in fact I had simply stopped decelerating) 
straight towards a rock wall, which looked particularly unyielding, even by rock 
wall standards.   When you step on the brakes and the brakes don't do anything, 
the instinct is to step on them further.   I rushed headlong towards this 
wall for at least a second with the brake pedal buried in the mat, before the 
brakes decided that they might be willing to do their job once again, and then 
WHAM the brakes dug in and the car practically stopped at the entrance to the 
corner; I had to accelerate to get through it.

Once that was successfully negotiated, I continued up the hill for a few 
miles and into and through the town of Caltavuturo.   I was so busy keeping the 
car on the road that I wasn't paying attention to navigation, and thus I failed 
to see the turnoff before the town, towards Collesano.   After driving through 
the town and a mile or two up the road, my Little Voice told me I'd goofed 
up.   A glance at the (very poor) map I had brought with me indicated that the 
turnoff should have been before the town instead of after it, so I turned 
around and headed back, and sure enough, a mile down the road, there it was.

So I turned towards Collesano and the character of the road changed 
completely.   The Cerda-Caltavuturo road was fairly narrow, but mostly in decent shape, 
with a center line and proper markings.   There was virtually no traffic on 
it however.   This road I'd turned on to was now substantially wider, easily 
three or four lanes wide in places, but had no markings of any kind, and the 
pavement was, in places, deteriorating seriously.   In fact I rounded a corner 
and found a long section of pavement where the ground had clearly given way 
underneath, leaving a moonscape of potholes that were easily six inches deep.   
Just past this was another area where the entire road, save for the uphill two 
feet or so, had simply dropped straight down about 12 inches; rather than 
fixing it the road crews had simply coned off the affected region; the top of the 
roadbed was almost as high as the cones placed on the main part of the road.

This section of road seemed a fair bit faster, and more flowing, but the fact 
that it was going downhill required greater use of the brakes.   Near the 
bottom it tightened up and there were a few 2nd gear hairpins.   One in 
particular was rather interesting, as there was a warning sign before a slight rise in 
the road, warning of a 16% downgrade.   Well, I've got great brakes so I'm not 
bothered by that.   So I went zooming over the brow, down the hill, and a 
hundred feet later I was greeted with a blind 180-degree right hairpin!   That 
might have been nice to know about ahead of time….

The elevated Autostrada was in view at this point, and the road turned left 
and went across an old bridge, underneath the Autostrada and over the river.   
After passing a maze of complicated on- and off-ramps for the Autostrada, the 
road then started climbing again, with a well-developed switchback section.   
For a long while, it was possible to zing it up to redline in 3rd gear, 
perhaps 100-120 kph, then ease onto the brakes and slow for a second-gear hairpin, 
the zoom back up and just touch redline in 3rd before the next hairpin.   Great 
stuff.

The road then opened up, and for reasons that I'll never quite know, I lifted 
off and slowed down a bit just to admire the view in the valley.   Good thing 
too, because I came around a right-hand corner and literally ran smack into a 
huge herd of cows that completely blocked the road!

There was no human in sight; the cows were fitted with thick leather collars 
with numerous cowbells on each one.   The cacophony was amazing.   I sat 
there, stopped dead in the road, for the better part of five minutes as perhaps a 
hundred cows slowly ambled past.   Apparently this is some sort of routine for 
them, and they were simply commuting from one field to another, or from their 
grazing field to their barn, or whatever.   As the last cow passed I 
considered myself fortunate that I didn't collect one at speed, and continued up the 
hill.

After cresting a ridgeline, the road started plunging downwards and Collesano 
was soon visible.   This was clearly an old town, with a majestic church in 
the middle.   The road I was on ended in a T-junction on the edge of the town; 
there was no sign for Campofelice di Roccella.   Just generally knowing the 
way the course was laid out, I made the right decision and turned left.   The 
course didn't go through the center of Collesano, but I was intrigued by the 
church so I turned off and drove into the town center, where I was able to park 
the car and check it out for a bit.

Curiosity satisfied, and driving lust yet to be sated, I climbed back into 
the car and headed out of town, stopping to top off the tank with 33 Euros worth 
of unleaded on the outskirts of the town.   Although I had only used a half a 
tank so far, I knew that gas stations in Italy close from 1:00 to 3:00, and I 
didn't want to be caught short.   

After filling the tank, I decided to do some rough calculations to find out 
just how expensive this gas was.   Let's see, multiply by 1.5 for the exhange 
rate, then multiply that by 3.6 to convert from liters to gallons, and, er…

…oh my.   $7.35 a gallon.   Well, best make the most of it then!

With the tank filled, I continued on, noting that the road was generally 
going downwards, but would occasionally climb for a good stretch, as the road was 
cut into the side of the hill.   It was faster in stretches, and I was able to 
use fourth gear a couple of times.

Entering Campofelice di Roccella, I made no attempt to try to discern the 
original routing of the course, and instead just followed the signs to the SP 113 
to Palermo.   In so doing I probably bypassed the original route by a few 
blocks, but eventually I found myself at the start of the long straight.

And this was indeed a long straight, looking almost like a runway, except 
substantially longer.   Way off in the distance was a giant mountain that went 
right to the coast, and a few buildings (the outskirts of Cerda) dotted the 
hillside from about the halfway point down to the ground.

I pulled into an Esso station for lunch.   Many gas stations in Italy double 
as coffee bars and snack shops, and there I was able to get a dynamite 
proscuitto sandwich and consider my day thus far.

It wasn't yet 1:00 p.m., and the weather was holding, so I made the obvious 
decision to take another complete lap.   This time I knew where I was supposed 
to go, and had a general feel for the nature of the various parts of the 
course, so I could afford to be more aggressive.   I ambled down the long straight 
(there was nothing to be proven by going especially fast here, and besides, I 
did see some Carbineri with one poor fellow pulled over), passed a truck just 
in time to enjoy the mile or two of twisty road, and then turned onto the 
SP120 for the start of a second lap.   By happy circumstance, the road becomes 
doubly wide in front of the starting line/grandstands, and I caught a slower car 
whose driver moved to the right just as we got to this point, so I was able to 
sweep past him without breaking my pace at all.   Then it was all third-gear 
stuff, with the occasional snatch down into 2nd gear for a right-hand hairpin, 
until I entered Cerda again.

This time there appeared to be less traffic, hustle and bustle, as it was 
siesta time, so I was able to ease through the town without undue difficulty or 
delay.   Once past the town, it was foot-to-the-floor time.   I had grown 
accustomed to the car's foibles and had grown confident in its roadholding 
abilities, and thus I found myself pushing considerably harder this time.   Most every 
corner was announced by the gentle hissing of the tires just on the very edge 
of adhesion, and I began using the brakes in a more committed fashion.   

I made a complete dog's breakfast out of my one attempt at a heel-toe 
downshift, so I resigned myself to just snicking it down into 2nd gear and letting 
the new synchros do their work for me.

Through the especially narrow and bumpy section, I was able to get the car 
slightly airborne, but made a point of not going as fast as possible, figuring 
that discretion was the better part of valor, and I didn't need to land 
nose-first and push the radiator up into the windscreen.

I had been seeing numerous old stone buildings, with weathered wooden doors 
and shutters and tile roofs, many of them appearing abandoned.   About 2/3 of 
the way up the hill, I realized there was a small village just off the right 
side of the road, so I slammed on the brakes and turned into it.   There were a 
half-dozen ancient buildings here, all of them seemingly intact, yet 
abandoned.   With a shrug I rejoined the road and continued blasting up the hill.

Approaching the turnoff below Caltovutura I was able to see there was no 
oncoming traffic, and whipped the wheel to the left, then immediately to the right 
to head down the hill.   (This intersection features heavily in the footage 
shot of the 1965 Targa Florio on Youtube, and if you watch it with a keen eye 
it is very apparent; as the cars turn left, the way straight ahead is blocked 
with haybales, and there are a substantial number of spectators here).

I encountered a few cars from time to time, and spent a few unfortunate 
minutes behind a train of two or three cars held up by a truck.   I stopped to take 
some photos and let the traffic clear, then continued on.   I was using the 
brakes much more now, charging into the corners, and feeling somewhat surprised 
because I found that I knew what to expect from each corner even though I'd 
only driven the road once.

Down the hill, across the bridge, and up the other side of the ridge, and 
there were no other cars in view anymore.   Approaching the site of the great 
unmanned cattle drive, I slowed down, then realized that all the cows were now 
happily established in a field on my left, so I pressed on.   Sweeping into and 
through Collesano, I stopped at the gas station again to relieve myself, and 
the attendants seemed puzzled by the fact that I had just passed going the same 
direction an hour and a half earlier.   I pantomimed the act of driving 
aggressively, and said “Targa Florio!” with a big grin, and they both returned 
knowing smiles.

I encountered a few cars driving down the valley, and even with my distinct 
lack of power, some prior planning and conservation of momentum enabled me to 
pass them on short straight sections.   All too soon I was at the bottom of the 
hill again, and turned onto the long straight.

Initially I had planned to just make two revolutions of the circuit and then 
head for home, but I was struck with an epiphany:   The Targa Florio course 
parallels the Autostrada and there is an onramp where it crossed underneath it 
at the extreme southern end.   So why just get onto the Autostrada now?

And so I swept back onto the SP120 for a third go!   This time I was 
completely confident in the road and was able to push it even harder.   I was 
reflecting on the fact that I was wheeling on hallowed ground, where the greatest 
drivers in history, the likes of Ascari, Nuvolari, Taruffi, Moss, Fangio and many 
more had done battle.   This was the most difficult and challenging event of 
the racing season, and victory went as often as not to the bravest, as opposed 
to the most talented.   Too, many brave drivers had their undoing here, as 
their equipment failed them, or their judgment lapsed momentarily.

Left, right, left, left, gas, brake, downshift, right, gas, upshift, gas, 
brake, left…on and on the road went, climbing 2000 feet in elevation, then 
abruptly turning and descending again.   On the wide, downhill section I came across 
a local in a battered VW Golf, and thanks to the width of the road and with 
the aid of gravity, I was able to effect an incredibly rewarding pass, and then 
quickly drive away from him.

When I got to the bottom of the hill, after negotiating an incredibly 
convoluted series of turns and short little crossovers, I sailed under the motorway 
on a rough, rutted 270-degree sweeper turn, and back onto the Autostrada 
heading for Catania.   Due to the uphill grade, I wasn't able to accelerate properly 
and a BMW loaded with four people went sailing past on the left.   As the 
wheezy Fiat slowly picked up speed, I was able to overtake and then drive away 
from the BMW, and once again I was trucking along at an arbitrary limit of 5000 
rpm.

Soon I saw a vehicle approaching from behind, and a tiny Hertz truck (about 
the size of a small minivan) went whooshing past.   Well, if he can do it, I 
can do it, so I gave it just that extra bit of throttle and followed him for 
many miles, cruising at more like 170 kph most of the time.

In about an hour, I was back at Sigonella, and I topped off the fuel tank (43 
Euros this time) before turning the car in.   Arguably it was now fully 
broken-in!

It had been a truly memorable day.   The rental car cost me $65 and I'd spent 
about $114 in gas, and every penny of it was money well-spent!

Here is a photo collage showing some of the things I was able to see on my 
drive:

http://members.aol.com/mikeldrew/TargaFlorio.jpg

Sicily is a beautiful place to visit, made all the more so by the amazing 
roads, light traffic and rather enlightened view towards enthusiastic driving 
outside the town limits.   If you should ever find yourself with the opportunity 
to trace the route of the Targa Florio, by all means do whatever you can to 
make it happen!



**************
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