A week ago I decided I had to go to Italy. I'd been planning a European trip for eight years but something always got in the way. Finally I just did it. Five minutes on the Internet and I had plane tickets and a rent-a-car. Booking hotels that late took a little more time, but everything worked out.

I watched all three episodes of The Godfather, but I knew I'd need to know more Italian, so I went to Wal-Mart and bought a thirty-minute tape. After the preliminaries of alphabet pronunciation and numbers, it goes into salutations and the first phrase it teaches me is:

Good morning Mr. Rossi. Buon giorno Signor Rossi.

So I knew I had the right tape and everything was coming together nicely until Europe's air traffic controllers learned we were coming and they went on strike. But Air France told me not to worry, that they had to let transatlantic flights land and it wouldn't be like Chico Marx's description of flying across the Atlantic and running out of gas just before landing, "So wadda you tink? We had to turn around and go back." They did let us land in Paris, but would not let us leave for twenty-four hours and then they kept our luggage another four days.

Autodromo Santa Monica at Misano is hot. The relentless sun beats down on the orchards and fields of chard that cover the hillsides around the track. It bakes vacationers brown on Italy's Adriatic coast until they seek shelter under the colorful umbrellas that stretch up and down the beach as far as you can see. It's especially hot and sticky since I've been in the same clothes since Tuesday, but I know you want to hear about Superbikes.

We all know by now that Friday qualifying sessions are just a warm-up, unless there is rain the forecast. Not only is there no rain in the forecast, there does not appear to be a cloud within five hundred miles.

Nitro Nori Haga crashed early in the first qualifying session. He returned to the pits, gritted his teeth, got his second bike and quickly crashed it as well. That left him sitting in the garage for most of the session, but his team got him on track before the checkers and he qualified fifth.

Colin Edwards also crashed during the session, but he was able to ride his bike back to the pits. His crew cleared the pebbles from that bike while he continued to ride and qualified third.

Troy Bayliss, like all other champions, makes it look effortless. He goes out, flys around the track, comes back to the pits where his team swaps tires and makes some minor adjustment, sends him back out and he goes faster. Sure, that's how it's supposed to work. But after eleven wins from fourteen races it feels like Ducati builds one fast bike and that bike belongs to Troy Bayliss and everyone else gets hand-me-downs.

Take Ruben Xaus' bike, for example. On Friday, each stop in the pits for fresh tires meant the team needed two or three tries to get his motor restarted. After the third stop and multiple unsucsessful attempts to restart the bike, you could see it was distracting Ruben as he stood waiting, hands on his hips and shaking his head. Finally, Xaus' crew was directed to apply Bayliss' starter roller. Using Bayliss's starter, Xaus' bike immediately boomed to life.

Ben Bostrom had a smooth session. Like Bayliss, he seemed to have no trouble, but he was more than a half-second back.

Friday night everyone got new motors in preparation for Saturday's SuperPole and I had the best seafood dinner of my life. The smallest bistros near Misano could teach the most expensive restaurants in Monterey a thing or three about fresh seafood.

Saturday was another scorcher and Bayliss continued to dominate the series. Before SuperPole everyone else improved their time from Friday, but Bayliss could not gain anything. As the sun raised temperatures near triple digits, no one paid much attention to the first twelve riders of SuperPole.

They began to pay attention when Hodgson broke into the 34s. Next was Bostrom, who looked near perfect with a 34 flat, that brought a cheer from the crowd. Colin Edwards' came next. His split times were off by a few ticks, so he came in behind Bostrom while Bayliss warmed up.

The track was quiet as Bayliss began his lap. When he crossed the first split he was a tenth quicker than Ben, but didn't look quite as smooth. Troy was right on the limit of traction and sometimes that costs time instead of making it. By the second split he was a quarter second ahead, but no one expected the final result. When Bayliss crossed the stripe he stopped the clocks and stunned the crowd with a 1:33.525, more than a half-second faster than Bostrom and more than a second and a half quicker than the existing lap record set by Corser on the Aprilia in Y2K.

As the sun sets orange into the calm Adriatic, qualifying is done and Sunday's races will be won by strategy as well as superior machinery. There's no question heat will be a factor, especially for the second race. Can anyone beat Troy Bayliss? What the heck is chard, anyway? Tune in tomorrow to find out.