That need to race: when Alex Zanardi returned to Karting…

We can't cry because Alex wouldn't have liked it. We don't want to retell the tired stories everyone already knows to remember him. What we've decided to do in the newsroom is share some aspects of the man Alessandro Zanardi during one of the toughest moments of his life—a moment that revealed the incredible drive that defined his entire existence and should be an example for all of us, who often complain without pausing to look around and appreciate how lucky we can be.
It was September 2002, and a charity kart race was set for Montecarlo. What better chance to return to the cockpit? Simone Angelini, a veteran kart mechanic and team manager, and Achille Parilla, boss of Italcorse and Italsystem — who supplied the karts for the event—built that machine.

Simone, did you already know Zanardi before Montecarlo?
Yes. From 1997, I think, when Bruno Grana assigned him to me as a driver for the fantastic Bercy race. He told me, “Zanardi will make you work, he's not like the others… you up for it?” Grana's “you up for it” was more of an order than anything… So I ended up managing the fresh Formula Kart world champion. I didn't know him as a karter since I started racing after he'd already quit, and I only knew him from what other drivers and mechanics said. I was a 26-year-old kid, but I wasn't intimidated by the job. Alex was friendly right away, kind but determined. An old fox of the kart world. I'd come prepared, and knowing Bercy, since I like to win without leaving anything to chance, I slipped two modified screws into my pocket for carburetor adjustments—something no one else had. Alex got right to it. Walter Masini, who was with Sospiri, protested our “advantage,” and I fired back, telling him to use finger-grip screws too (knowing he hadn't brought any). But Alex said in front of everyone, “Take them off, I don't need them: I win without them!” Then he leaned in and whispered, “Who cares, we've already nailed the carb anyway…” and burst out laughing. The secret of Bercy, which only I knew, was that the timing photocells were right after the first corner, past the braking point. I noticed, went to Alex, and said, “Hey, the photocells are after the braking zone. Don't brake… even if you crash, we'll get pole!” And that's what happened: he didn't brake, slammed into the hay bales, and took pole! He won the race and came back to the pits with the trophy in one hand and a brand-new Playstation in the other. I thought about asking for the Playstation, but he handed me the trophy. “Alex, I'd prefer the Play…” And he, bursting out laughing, “Fat chance, I'm playing with this one!”

Was Bruno Grana right when he said he was super demanding?
No. He was a driver, he wanted to win, end of story. And since I like to win too, we got along great. He was a real character, but he had a heart as big as a house. At Bercy, there were two dining areas: one for drivers and one for mechanics. Chatting with him, I mentioned they were treating us poorly and the food sucked. In a flash, he stopped work, called all the guys, and said follow him. We trailed our leader timidly to the entrance. An F1 driver said we couldn't sit there. He got right in his face and said if he didn't get out of the way, he'd kick his ass. Then, with a smile but dead serious and determined, he told all the seated drivers, “Okay, now it's the turn of the guys who make it possible for us to race. If you're done, get up and give them your seats. They need to eat well too.” It was the who's who of world motorsport, and he made them all stand—willing or not—so we could sit. And he ate with us, him who was at the top of the world. I get goosebumps telling you this story…

Then you met up again in Montecarlo.
This time I was working with Achille Parilla, my mentor I'm still super close to, who tasked me with setting up a kart for Zanardi. Like everyone, I'd been traumatized seeing a friend—let me call him that—suffer such a scary crash and hang between life and death for days. I didn't know how it'd be for me, for him. But he was the same old Alex: a whirlwind, quick with a joke, and with that hunger to win I'd rarely seen in other drivers. When I saw Alex had come to the track to win, I knew I had to give my all, building steering controls from scrap and recycled materials. The braking system was operated by his right hand with a lever under the wheel, throttle by the left. The setup, a hybrid of kart and motorcycle parts, actually turned out pretty good and was adjustable for balance. I even modded the seat for comfort with his prosthetics. When it was time to go, he looked me in the eye and said, “What do I do… start?” He said it more to himself than me, like asking permission. With all the power of the Saetta Wankel engine, he floored the hand throttle—super direct—and with no weight on the front, the kart wheelied. He turned to me, and even through the helmet, I could tell he was laughing his ass off. I started laughing too and realized he was the same guy, nothing had changed. Trying to rip the air filter off the carb for more speed, he lost control and crashed. They brought him back to the pits in the ambulance kart, machine all banged up. I didn't know what to do, and he immediately said, “Simone, give me a 4mm Allen key to fix my legs. You start on the kart. We've got little time.” While we both worked, he said, “Hey, but in the end it was an advantage. With the crash I made, if I'd had legs, a 4mm wouldn't have been enough.” And he burst out laughing! He set the fifth-fastest time. He told everyone nothing had changed, that it was normal he'd go fast. He said it a bit resentfully too, with all the world's TV news there for Zanardi's racing comeback—even if just a kart race. But deep down, I knew it wasn't that straightforward for him either… At the Bologna Motorshow, same kart and setup, he went fourth behind Sospiri, Modena, and Montermini. We could've won with a bunch of retirements, but he got arm cramps from the insane effort of driving such a powerful kart (the Wankel back then had about 50 hp) and finished sixth. He was pissed, because he wanted more work on the controls and a minimum weight rule (keep in mind there were 125 MotoGP kids weighing 50 kg…), but it was still a huge result. He thanked me and, when I complimented his helmet, gave it to me. “Hey, wait till I die to sell it… you'll make more money!” And burst out laughing. Only him…

What happened to the helmet?
There it is, in the display case. And the kart? The kart, after a series of sad mishaps, I took it home. Achille Parilla said it was right. It's still in my workshop, in a place of honor.
Did you see Alex again?
Yes, last time at Vallelunga for a WTCC race. He was with BMW. I was there for Antonio Garcia, and walking into the pits, I saw a BMW with “Zanardi” on the rear glass. I got close and, with the passenger door open, sat next to him like mechanics do. He turned, looked at me. Recognized me and greeted me warmly, yelling from under his helmet. Then, as usual, one of his classics: “Oh Simone! Fix this throttle cable, these guys haven't figured it out for days!” In the race, he banged doors with everyone. If he could've, he'd have thrown his prosthetics at them. He won once again. That was the last time I saw him and talked to him.

He'll be missed by all of us.