L'Emozione della Grande Corsa - 2022

fairy tales. Or fairy tales, which sound like true stories.
The last bomb comes suddenly. Even more devastating than
American bombers. It succeeds where the Liberators failed. It
explodes violently with De Portago’s crazy car. And it’s the end.
Since 1957, many lusters have passed. Too many for us not to
try again, at least in a reminiscent key. We trace the footsteps of
Castagneto.
The most ardent Brescians remember, the souls of the great
starters, like Bruno Boni, look a bit mockingly, the old journalists,
weather they are souls or mortals, smiling, thinking of those
vibrations of the past that made the windows shake, and the sun
that beat on the ears of wheat high in the Bassa Bresciana, where
there were no pylons and thermodestructors and yuppies.
A nice attempt, sincere, fascinating, today in step with the new
times. That comes back on time every year like spring and
leaves room once again for imagination, if anyone still has it.
And the desire to dream, as long as you stay. Meanwhile, we are
witnessing the performances of the new riders with fireproof and
sponsored suits and digital cameras on the dashboard.
This is how it starts again, still straddling the strapaese and
stracittà, with a dusting of business and new economy and
advertising plans.
Rolling down the streets in May, now in June, that now have
white only the remains of advertising posters torn and cooked
by the sun. While all the Freccia Rossa pilots, the real ones, who
have long been called to other circuits, watch from up there their
old racing cars roar once again, led by modern emuli. And they
watch them smiling, sitting on rainbow rides.
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