The rally that time forgot: Part 2

It was late afternoon as the staggered group made their way towards the Italian border, now just a few kilometres away from the target destination. Having taken it easy for hundreds of miles, suddenly the engines were opened up. You couldn’t help it, the magnetism pulling you in at full throttle, trying to get there as fast as possible.

Crossing the line

The approach to the border followed a long, straight incline allowing you to observe what looked like a huge car park, eventually turning out to be the queue of vehicles waiting to get past border control. One by one we all rolled up and joined at the back. Realising it was going to be a long wait, it seemed the ideal time to stretch the legs and get those damn crash helmets off our heads. Everyone around us was getting out of their cars, curious to see what we were all about and why we were on Lambrettas. People were coming up and shaking our hands, those with cameras taking pictures. It was all a bit strange but