There was never any doubt about what Alberto Ascari would beif he lasted long enough to grow up. All his life. Alberto had lived with the sound, smell and danger of high-speed engines. Before he was five, he learned how to handle the wheel from his racing-driver father. Perched on papa's knee, little Alberto navigated the back roads of Milan, Italy, and the graceful curves of the old race track at Monza. By the time Alberto was seven, the elder Ascari was dead, killed in a crash at Montlhéry in the French Grand Prix. But the youngster was already determined to...
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