MEMORIES FROM THE FIRST IMOLA 200
By Don Emde

In the early 1970’s a new class of international motorcycle roadracing was created: Formula 750. The concept was based a lot on the AMA’s rule system that called for race bikes up to 750cc that could be highly modified, yet still based on a model built in quantity.

Even though the class would eventually stray from the original concept (when the TZ750 Yamahas took over), in many ways, it was the beginning of today’s Superbike class of racing. The early fields were filled by production-based BSAs, Ducatis, Nortons, Triumphs, Hondas, Suzukis and, yes, Yamahas.

The first major Formula 750 race to run in Europe was a 200-mile roadrace held at Imola, Italy in April of 1972. As it turned out, I was the only American-born rider to race in that event and the following are a few of the memories I have about it:

The worldwide attention that the Anglo-American Match Races (later called Trans-Atlantic Match Races) generated in 1971 caused a number of things to happen in 1972. First, the AMA got together with the FIM and the Daytona 200 was to be run under the new “Formula 750” rules. In Europe, race promoters began to look at Formula 750 as a new class to build on, separate from the Grand Prix schedule.

Prior to arriving at Daytona that year, I was contacted by the promoters of the upcoming Trans-Atlantic Match Race Series in England. I had been part of the U.S. team in the inaugural 1971 series and they wanted me to come back again, but on one condition. They said, “We want you to ride a 750cc machine. The fans want to see riders on the big 750’s, not a little 350 Yamaha.”

This was a bit of a problem for me, since I was teamed up for 1972 with a 350cc Yamaha TR3, owned and tuned by a Yamaha dealer from Bakersfield, California named Mel Dinesen. Luckily, we were sponsored by the publication Motor Cycle Weekly, a fairly new publication being produced in Southern California by two transplanted Brits, Bruce Cox and Gavin Trippe. The two still had good connections in England and were able to line me up with Gus Kuhn Norton (a dealer in London) to ride one of their 750cc Seeley Norton Commandos in the Match Races. Problem solved for England.

The story now shifts to the 1972 Daytona 200. The first I heard of the race at Imola was as I was exiting Victory Lane (which I won on my “little 350 Yamaha”). Mr. Carlo Galavotti approached me and said he would like to speak to me about inviting me to come to their new race. He said basically that as the winner of the Daytona 200 they were prepared to do whatever was necessary to get me there. For the second time, though, I heard those words: “We want you there, you just can’t ride your Yamaha.” He said he was aware that I was lined up with Gus Kuhn for the Match Races and maybe I could ride that bike?

It seemed that in just a few minutes, we had a deal put together. Pending confirmation from the guys at Gus Kuhn, I would be going to Italy in April. As soon as I got back home, I contacted Vincent Davey of Gus Kuhn Motors and his response was an enthusiastic “yes, let’s do it!” So the deal was on.

The month of April was quite busy for me. Following Daytona I was off to England to ride in the Match Races. That series didn’t go real well for me. While the bike was pretty competitive against Cal Rayborn’s Harley and the British BSAs and John Player Nortons, we had a lot of trouble with electrical failures throughout the series and I crashed the bike once.

I then went home to ride the Road Atlanta AMA National on my Yamaha and then it was back overseas to Imola. Instead of just flying to Italy, however, Davey invited me to come to England and drive down there with him and his crew. I am really glad I did that, as we had a great time on the road and seeing some great sights in Germany, Austria and then down into Italy.

I recall that when we finally pulled into the pits at the Imola racecourse, Vincent Davey parked near the John Player Norton team. Even though he had a privateer effort going, he seemed to have a close relationship with them and I knew the riders: Phil Read, Peter Williams and Tony Rutter from the Match Races. There weren’t a lot of English speaking people there, so it was nice to be around people we knew.

I guess you can’t talk about the 1972 races at Imola without mentioning the big Ducati effort. I can honestly say that I did not hear the word Ducati mentioned until their big double-deck race hauler pulled in to the pits. My immediate impression was: “what’s that all about?” Until that weekend, my only experiences with Ducatis were from the old AFM club racing days on the west coast, beating a few guys on Ducati 175s with a 100cc Hodaka that I used to ride for Mel Dinesen.

When Ducati pulled in, it got everyone’s attention, but for me the people that I felt I would need to beat were the guys on the John Player Nortons, plus some of my old Triumph/BSA buddies from the Match Races. Guys like Ray Pickrell, John Cooper, Tony Jefferies, Percy Tait and a few others. I also knew that Giacomo Agostini was entered on a 750cc MV Agusta and expected him to run good. People were telling me that the Formula 750 class was a big thing and that MV had put a big effort into getting one of their new 750s ready for this event.

The next day was the practice day. I got out onto the racetrack and really started to enjoy myself. The year I rode there was before they put in any of the chicanes and the course was really great to ride on. With the exception of one hairpin at the back end of the track, you really kept a lot of momentum going all the way around the rest of the track. My Norton was really working well and by the end of the day I was feeling very good about my lines and putting in some pretty good laps.

In one of the last sessions, I was heading up towards the start-finish line and I noticed a rider coming out of the pits onto the track. I soon recognized the helmet and knew that it was Mr. Agostini himself! He had about 50-75 yards on me as we got into the fast Turn One bend. He then got up to speed and we headed around the course.

This was obviously a much bigger moment for me than it was for him, but he was keeping an eye on me for the two or three laps we ran together. I was able to inch up on him while he was out there and was within just about a few bike lengths when, as we completed a lap, he suddenly pulled into the pits. My dice with the “Champ” was over but, as things turned out, it was the highlight of the trip for me.

The way they handled qualifying at Imola was that all of our practice sessions were timed. I believe I was logged in around 12th fastest. Ahead of me was Agostini, plus the Ducatis of Paul Smart and Bruno Spiggiari, the British contingent and a few others. Twelfth wasn’t anything to be proud of, but the times were all pretty close and I think I was on the third row for the start.

Come race day, there was one change to deal with. It was raining in the morning. It wasn’t a pouring rain, just light drizzle, but enough to have to refigure what to do. What would the best tire be for 200 miles if it were raining all the way? Or, what if it stopped? This was before the days of quick-change wheels, so a tire change would result in a long stop if needed, so we had to make the right call. I think my crew decided against chancing it and went with a hard tire that they knew would go the distance wet or dry.

Something that I still remember well was that just prior to our race, the promoters had a parade lap for old bikes and riders of days gone by. I remember seeing Luigi Taveri on a little 50cc Grand Prix Honda he used to ride. There were plenty of others too, but then the big moment was the appearance of one of the original Moto Guzzi V-8 Gran Prix bikes from the 50’s. The sound of that bike gave me goose bumps as the pilot revved up through the gears.

Finally, it was time to race. Somehow there was a bit of a mix up about how to start the race. There was some discussion at the rider’s meeting about the way they start races in America, with the 5 minute boards and the count down from there. What we did not know when they told us that was that we would first be sent out around the track, and they would not start the 5 minute countdown until we got back to the starting line. This is what happened and then we just sat there for five minutes in our starting positions.

Just as the countdown was getting to the final seconds, my Norton had had enough. It felt like it just ran out of gas, which, essentially was what happened. The Amal GP carbs on the Commando motor basically boiled out the gas and developed an air bubble. The engine then quit just as the flag fell! I think I got a hand in the air, I don’t remember exactly, but lucky for me no one ran into me. I remember thinking about a crash at a race I was in at Talladega in 1970 when Ron Grant’s Suzuki X-6 stalled on the line and another rider hit him. Lucky for me everyone got by me without any incident.
After the pack went buzzing by, we got my bike off the track and over into the pits. It was really frustrating to be so ready to go for a long 200-mile race and not even get off the line. I lost about seven laps in the pits before the Gus Kuhn mechanics were able to get the engine to fire. They, of course, did not have the luxury of knowing what my problem was, and since we had so many electrical problems at the Match Races, the things they checked initially were the spark plugs, the battery, the ignition system etc., things like that.

As I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, I began to think that maybe I should just pack it in. After all, now being down seven or so laps, what could I accomplish anyway? The thing that made me stay with it though was the fact that the promoters had spent a lot of money to get me and the Gus Kuhn people to the race. I knew that even if I wasn’t in the hunt, there were people out around the track that had heard that I was going to be there, and I felt obligated to at least make my appearance for their sake.

So, out I went, down seven or eight laps, but finally in the race. I recall that as I pulled out of the pits and into the race, I saw Agostini off his bike on the outside of Turn One. His MV had already broken and he was out. I wasn’t going to get a second chance to dice with him again.

Nothing too exciting happened to me the rest of the way. I just tried to get up to speed and to be consistent. When the day was done, I was still running and got credited with a 19th place finish.

One thing that I recall was that on the cool down lap, the fans started hoping over the fences and were out on the track. It reminds me of what they had to deal with just last year at a couple of roadraces in Europe. For about the last mile or so, there was just a narrow passage left on the track to proceed to the pits. Someone mentioned that it was a good thing I didn’t stop, because you couldn’t be certain what the fans may have wanted for a souvenir. Me and the whole bike could have disappeared from what I was told.

Afterwards, I talked with Mr. Galavotti and he was very appreciative of my decision to race, when a high finish was obviously out the window. He mentioned that a number of the big stars who were there would have just headed for their trailers had they suffered my misfortune. I felt good about that.

It wasn’t until after I was back to our paddock that someone mentioned that the Ducatis of Smart and Spiggiari finished 1-2. I don’t recall ever seeing them out on the track, so this was all news to me.

Later, I went to where the riders were being paid. I don’t remember how much I got with my start and prize money, but I remember adding it all up and for the first (and only) time in my life I was a millionaire. The trouble was, you had to count it in Italian Lira – not dollars. Oh well.

All in all, even with my trouble on the line and losing all those laps, being a part of that first 200-miler at Imola remains a highlight of my racing career. I got to see some parts of the world that I have not been back to since, dice with Giacomo Agostini for a few laps, and be a part of the lore of the big win at Imola by Paul Smart on the Ducati.

It’s funny how something that seemed so routine at the time can be so interesting all these years later. Ends
 

In Victory Lane at the 1972 Daytona 200…me and the bike nobody wanted to see race in Europe.
 

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