Driving the Mille Miglia

For each day the organizers provided each car with a thick road book. The directions involved stick diagrams, known as “tulips,” and symbols of various kinds. There were also back-up maps, but these were not detailed. Most of the time we did not know where we were, other than that we were so many meters or kilometers past the junction or maneuver indicated by the last tulip diagram and so many meters or kilometers before the next one. Most of the contestants used what looked to us like sophisticated rally computers. We relied solely on an app on Stefan’s phone that gave accurate speeds and distances. Navigating, then, consisted of calling out to the driver the number of meters and/or kilometers to the next junction, landmark, and/or maneuver and what that maneuver would be.

Two additional things helped us in our navigation: at many intersections the organizers had placed emblematic red-arrow 1000 Miglia signs, pointing the participants in the right direction, and at times we were escorted by motorcycle police, who would block the ordinary traffic at some intersections so that the Mille Miglia participants could pass through. Even when these police were not stopping ordinary traffic, we knew that if we followed them, we would normally be on the correct road.

Despite these aids, navigating tended to be more tiring than driving. Navigating required uninterrupted concentration on the road book, distances, and the road itself. There was no time for enjoying the scenery, and anyone who hopes to participate in the Mille Miglia thinking it is a picturesque tour through Italian countryside will want to think again. (Stefan wisely decided that we would take turns, both driving and both navigating; this allowed us to rest, alternatively, from the mental exertion of concentrating on navigating and the physical exertion of the actual driving.) The one advantage of intense concentration while navigating was that there was no time to become nervous that the car might be going too fast. This was particularly helpful when Stefan found his inner Stirling Moss and hustled the 1900 up and down the Abetone Pass.

There were two kinds of occasional special stages. The more simple kind would consist of driving a set speed over a specified distance, usually in the 35 kph range for around 7 km. The less simple kind was also several kilometers long but was divided into, usually, at least half a dozen smaller sections. In each of these smaller sections (all marked by checkpoints), which could range in length from a few hundred meters to about 2 kilometers, the road book specified very specific (and very low) average speeds. We would, therefore, attempt to drive at, say, 18.35 kph for 230 meters, then for 1800 meters at 24.65 kph, and so on. It took us a while to understand what was expected of us in these special stages, and even then, we discovered how hard it is to keep a car, what with the ups and downs and ins and outs of the terrain, at so precise a speed (or even near to it). One of the first of these multi-section special stages took place on the Grand Prix track at Imola. Others took place on the taxiways and runways of Italian military bases. Each day usually included three or four of these two kinds of special stages.