It was an afternoon like any other at “the Cava”, with the pleasant tiredness in the arms, and the strong smell of tar in everyone’s noses, carried by the September breeze among the gray warehouses. But the afternoon snack ritual, a key appointment after riders spent several hours on a motorbike making crossings on that track half-beaten by the rollers, coincided with the turning point for the group. With his suit unbuckled and a salami sandwich in his hands, Valentino resolutely tackled “the” question: “This place is too dangerous, we have to look for a real track”. It was the start of a new journey, in a place that soon became more than a racing track: the Motor Ranch.