IMOLA, Italy – The journey to Imola didn’t start as planned. A major accident after Bologna turns what should have been a two-hour drive into almost five, leaving that feeling of always being one step behind something important. By the time I arrived, it’s already dark.
I don’t have a pass yet. I don’t have official access. But I have a phone call – and sometimes, that’s enough. That’s how I entered the Autodromo Internazionale Enzo e Dino Ferrari on a Thursday evening, when there are no crowds, no noise, and motorsport is still hidden.
And that’s exactly when you understand something right away: The race is only part of it. The cars are sitting inside the garages, within the team paddocks. Open. Disassembled. Alive. No show. No filters.
Guided by Stefano Gattuso, Bronze driver of the Mustang #88, I step into the operational world of Proton Competition, the team running the Ford Performance program in the FIA World Endurance Championship. Alongside him, the driver lineup includes Gianmarco Levorato and Logan Sargeant.
This isn’t a visit. It’s access. There’s a Ford-blue corridor, with the three TriBar stripes above and two Mustang horses on the walls. It’s just a passage. But when you walk through it, you feel like you’re entering something that doesn’t normally belong to you.
Friday – When It Becomes Real
On Friday, the pace changes. The garages fill up, the work intensifies. Mechanics rehearse pit stops, drivers repeat cockpit entry and exit drills, engineers work through data and setup adjustments.
The Mustang #88 isn’t perfect yet. And you can feel it. Test. Adjust. Repeat. Then something unexpected happens: Family. Wives, kids, parents, friends step into a space filled with pressure and procedure. The atmosphere shifts. It softens. It becomes human. And without even realizing it, you’re no longer just watching. You’re inside.
The Mustang #88 sits still in the garage. Stefano walks over, opens the door, and without saying a word, gestures for me to get in. I sit down. The door closes. And in that moment, the paddock disappears. No mechanics. No noise. Just that tight, essential cockpit, built for one purpose: Racing!
Instinctively, I grip the steering wheel. And then something happens that has nothing to do with technique. A memory. Not just one – many. The beginning. The first time a Mustang became more than just a car. The hours spent learning, documenting, building something around a passion without knowing where it would lead. It’s all there, compressed into a few seconds.
And then it becomes even more personal. The effort it took to buy my first Mustang. My father – who is no longer with us – driving it from the port of Genoa to Piacenza, my hometown. The birth of my daughter. Selling the first car. Buying my convertible. All at once, two tears fall. No one outside notices, but inside, it’s impossible to ignore.
Because in that moment, you’re not just living something special, you’re realizing that every choice, every sacrifice, every step taken in pursuit of a passion . . . led you exactly here.
Saturday – When You Stop Watching
It’s on Saturday when everything intensifies. Practice, qualifying, problems to solve. The car still not exactly where it needs to be. The drivers’ tension becomes shared. During the autograph session, the paddock opens up – but the perspective changes. I find myself behind the car, managing people, organizing photos, moving as if I’ve always been part of it. No one asks why I’m there.
For a few minutes, I’m not a spectator anymore; I feel like part of the team. Qualifying puts the Mustang #88 into the top 10 and into Hyperpole. It’s not a final result, but it’s a signal.
Sunday – When Everything Comes Together
Race Day Sunday begins in silence. I arrive before anyone else. Closed garages, empty paddock. Then everything slowly comes back to life. The grid walk is when you truly understand where you are. You walk among the cars, the drivers, the mechanics.
Above the grid, the Goodyear blimp moves slowly. The race hasn’t started yet . . . but it already has.
From above the start-finish line, the start feels different. The helicopter carrying the flag. The anthem sung by the entire circuit. That sudden feeling of goosebumps. The race is started by Andrea Kimi Antonelli. Then, racing begins.
The Mustang #88 starts strong. In the opening stints, it climbs up to second place. For a moment, everything feels possible. Then the race changes. Rain. Strategy. Retirements. Endurance racing is like that. The final result doesn’t tell the whole story. In the garage, there’s no anger – there’s awareness.
When I leave Imola, it’s pouring rain. The paddock empties, structures come down, the weekend ends. But what remains isn’t the final position. It’s that moment: That cockpit. Those two tears no one saw. Because in the end, motorsport is not just about speed, strategy, or results. It’s about what it moves inside you.
And when that happens, you realize you’re not there by chance.
