"Flying" With Nuvolari the Mantuan

Achille Varzi, one of the top Grand Prix drivers of his day, felt exhausted but comfortably in command of the 1930 Mille Miglia—a draining, 16-hour epic race through rural Italy. With just three kilometers to go, none of his competitors was even in view. It now was dark, except for Varzi's headlights probing the road before him at speeds sometimes approaching 100kph. The April night sounds of insects and birds and distant howling dogs enveloped an otherwise tranquil countryside round about, but the only sound in Varzi's ears was the roar of his Alfa Romeo.

Suddenly Varzi was aware of another sound . . . another deafening auto engine . . . another Alfa Romeo. Raising a hellish harmony with the noise of his own vehicle, it must be very near. A sideward glance froze Varzi's blood: It was at his very shoulder! Now it was abreast, and an instant later it had moved ahead into the beam of his lights. As it pulled away, its driver turned on his own headlights, which until that moment had been darkened.

Varzi did not need to be told who the demon racer was. Only one man in the world had such nerve as to linger behind in the blackness, lights off, stealthily following Varzi's car, awaiting the perfect moment to seize the lead. He was Tazio Nuvolari—the "Flying Mantuan"—Varzi's partner as well as his great nemesis.

The legend of the Mille Miglia lights-out trick is, some say, only that—a legend, nurtured through later generations by Nuvolari's mechanic. Others believe it contained a proverbial nugget of truth, though the actual event was somewhat less dramatic. Few, however, question the amazing courage and achievements of the man from Mantua (actually, from nearby Casteldario, Italy). Born in 1892, Nuvolari had a lifelong zest for both speed and showmanship. As a child he mastered acrobatics with his bicycle and enthralled the village folk. In the style of later-day Hollywood western stars, he would make flourishing departures from school in the afternoons, leaping from the classroom window and landing in the saddle of his bike, which he'd left propped outside.

After serving as a driver in the Italian Army during World War I, he began his racing career on motorcycles in 1920. On one occasion, he was seriously injured in an auto accident several days before a race. Doctors proclaimed his convalescence would require weeks. Thickly wrapped in bandages, he stubbornly insisted on being helped aboard his motorcycle at the start of the race, to the astonishment of onlookers. Perhaps anticlimactic was his first-place finish.

It wasn't to be his last defiant dismissal of injury and risk. One race day in 1936, he stole away from the hospital where he was recovering from a practice mishap, hailed a taxi to the race course, took the wheel of a back-up car and finished seventh.

By 1924, Nuvolari had begun racing autos. His frequent successes over the next quarter century made him an Italian national hero and an international idol. Starting with Bugattis and later racing Alfas, Maseratis, Auto-Unions, Ferraris and other makes, he became the Grand Prix "ace of aces." By all accounts, he was a "natural" at the wheel. One race analyst found that Nuvolari's cars required less gasoline and fewer tire and brake replacements than those of leading competitors. This is particularly intriguing in view of the fact that Nuvolari raced at one fairly standard speed: fast.

In the 1932 Targa Floria, Nuvolari requested a lightweight mechanic as his riding companion. His team owners sent along a young boy, more than a little intimidated by the prospect of riding with the Flying Mantuan. In those years before roll-bars, side-riding mechanics were in extreme peril in the event of a mishap. To ease the lad's mind, Nuvolari promised he would shout a warning whenever they approached an unusually risky turn, so the mechanic would have time to crouch beneath the dash. After the race (which Nuvolari won) the youth reported he had spent the entire ordeal huddled from sight. The mad driver, he said, "began to shout at the first bend" and basically didn't stop shouting.

Perhaps Nuvolari's most famous victory was the German Grand Prix in July 1935. Practically everyone realized the new Alfa Romeo model Nuvolari was driving was inferior to the German Mercedes-Benzes and Auto-Unions. Yet, with skill and doggedness, he held close behind the leading Mercedes until the final few kilometers. The German driver's tires were so worn that the question was not whether Nuvolari could catch him, but whether the Mercedes could finish the race. Providence smiled on the visiting Italian. A blow-out eliminated the leader, and Nuvolari arrived first at the finish—much to the embarrassment of Nazi party officials on hand to honor their nation's automotive prowess.

Nuvolari raced until 1950. Paralyzed by a stroke in 1952, he died the following August. More than 50,000 fans and family friends paid their last respects.

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