Advertisement
Published: November 16th 2011
Disclaimer: This one is going to be long. Might want to read each ride as a chapter or bookmark it after reading a portion at a time. Good luck.
Laura recently asked me, “So, how did you get into cycling?”
I started saying a lot of things about a guy named Lance. Max noticed she wasn’t following so I started at the beginning. Back in October of 1996. When he was first diagnosed with cancer. I won’t give you the rest of the story since I hope that you know the rest. But the short version that bests answers her question is watching Lance climbing in the Alps during so many Tour de France. It was the climbing. It was the Alps. It was Lance. Easy as that.
But then it became more and more of a love affair. And I have of course since cheated on Lance (or more or less have moved on since his retirement and have replaced him with a new love: Andy Schleck). Cycling has become more than just Lance for me. There are dozens of cyclist that I now root for and vehemently cheer against. I love the colors, I love the story lines, I love the pain, I love the personalities, I love the history, I love the bikes, the components, the wheels, the clothing, the lifestyle, the views, the rivalries, the speed, the danger, the psychological battles, the rules (written and unwritten), the commentators, the feeling of being connected to the road by two inches of rubber, and everything else that has anything to do with the sport. But the original love never changed. Climbing in the Alps. Hell I still love it so much that I picked up and moved to the center of it. Torino: the Capital of the Alps.
Ride 1
I have been on four rides so far, each better than the last. The first was a reconnaissance mission. Search for information, routes, a spatial map, weather intel, roads, traffic, and of course, the best sights. What I found out was simple: everything is going to be easy. I got home in a loop-sort-of fashion, which is always nice since you aren’t finding familiarity but instead relying on your intuition and mental compass. I found my way.
Ride 2
The second ride was, at that moment, one of the best rides of my life. Followed my previous path but went further (that’s typical for the second ride). Of course the first two rides were dictated by finding hills (like the hills that are at the feet of the alps, the ones close to the snow covered peaks but not yet that impressive). So I look at the mountain and then find roads that I think will lead me straight into them. What I found were a few hillside villages that you’d see in movies, all covered with cobblestone streets, old rustic churches complete with towers with bells and clocks. I again shook my head while smiling and repeated to myself: I am in Italy, on my bike.
On this ride I noticed that a quick repair to my fork ad headset (think where the fork of the bike meets the frame) had not been sufficient. Max had tightened something that seemed to improve the looseness but while on the bike and over cobblestones, I quickly realized it wasn’t quite right. Max and I decided to take it to a shop after further inspection. I googled Wilier (my frame brand) shops near the house. Of course there are over 500 Wilier shops in Italy (1 in America, or at least 1 good one) and 3 in Torino alone. We picked the one closest to the house (5k) and left early Saturday morning. A short summary of road cycling personalities: rude, arrogant, and cold. Shop owners who make a living selling things to you hardly notice you and sometimes will go out of their way to ignore you. Cyclists are notorious for not talking to one another while passing and judging someone’s bike on brand names alone. Hardly a warm stereotype. So, I was nervous and expecting the same. Especially since I assumed my problem was minor and probably exclusively my fault and my inexperience as a bike mechanic would lead to laughter and jokes like, “Why don’t you ask Lance, hahahahaha.” Not sure where I come up with these ideas, but either way I was nervous. Max did all the talking (no surprise there). He is a super friendly guy who wants to get to know everyone and wants to make everyone laugh. He never stopped smiling while talking and no one seemed to smile back. I was worried. But Max insisted there were very nice, knowledge, and honest. The gave me a fair price and told him that it would be ready by 6pm, that night. Uncommon to say the least. Then, our of no where, the younger man in the group started talking to me in English. I was shocked. It was perfect. Max and I talked about how great the experience was all the way home. It was only the beginning. We returned at 6pm to get the bike and then asked about racing in the spring. The guy who spoke English hands me his card which reads: Presidente. He is the president of a cycling club here in Torino. He then invites me for the Sunday morning ride the very next morning. I declined due to my lack of current fitness and so he invites me for a ride with him during lunch time someday this week. Are you kidding me? The only guy in there who speaks English owns a Wilier shop (the closet one to the house) and is the president of a cycling club and seems keen on having me join and ride nearly everyday? Unbelievable. Unbelievable.
Ride 3
I decide to look at the map of where I had been and where I should go next. Of course the Alps are my goal so I find the shortest route to the big ones. There are a million little towns with a billion streets in between me and the alps but I decide that I could use a break from climbing and decided to see how close I could get to France (about 60km from my front door). Come to find out the route I have been experimenting with is actually where I need to head for this journey. It is pretty much a straight flat shot to France (until the border alps of course). But it only took about 15 km to run straight into the first clear sight of the alps. The holy grail. The mecca of cycling. The goal. The dream. There were staring right back at me. It of course was an emotional experience that I will never forget.
While riding I am of course seeing cyclist all around me out on their long Sunday strolls. Then, the moment of truth presented itself and I was being “wheel-sucked.” An Italian had grabbed my wheel and was now drafting off of me. Of course this means he had to catch me in the first place so I immediately know he is moving at a much swifter pace. But instead of knowing my limits, I let the Alps and this Marco Pantani lover behind me get the best of me (and eventually the worst). I picked up the pace so I wouldn’t be further embarrassed. Then when I couldn’t any longer he began to pass me and we smiled and said “ciao!” Then I again, tried to play the hero and grabbed his wheel and refused to let go, until I did. Then he slowed down inviting me back in for some more torture chamber. But this time was different (thank God). He wanted to talk to this curious American on an Italian bike (he was on a Cannondale of all things, ironic I know). We did our best as two people who don’t share a common language. He asked, “America, New York? California?” I replied, “Texas.” And then of course he gave the standard Italian response, “Lance!!” Yes Texas and Lance are synonymous here in Italy. Then the second and super quick response to that of course is something about Marco Pantani (the greatest Italian cyclist in the last 20 years, who died at the tender age of 34 due to an acute cocaine overdoes after falling depressed about his failed drug test and consequent speculation of EPO use). He is their national cycling hero. Quickly, going back to the shop scene with Max and the owner who speaks English. Max was speaking Italian and I was doing my best to pick up on words and falling miserable when all of a sudden I heard a pause from Max and a simultaneous response from every other person in the shop: “Marco Pantani!?” Then everyone had a good laugh (I did too but of course I had no idea why we were having a good laugh). Then Max tells me that he told them that I was a huge fan of the greatest cyclist in the last 20 years. We were all standing 4 feet away from a Pantani poster. Lance of course beat Marco a few times in Le Tour and famously referred to him as “the pirate” for his usual bandana, earring and goatee trifecta, further fueling their rivalry. Everyone worships Pantani.
So back to the Sunday ride and my first interaction with an Italian cyclist. He took me through more of the movie-esque villages that I would have strayed away from due to their complex nature. He was an excellent guide, but pushed me a bit when accelerating up steep village hills and alley-ways. I told him that I would need a cappuccino and I assumed he knew where to go. I was right. Through the villages we continued and we eventually ended up back in the SSP 24 that I had taken from Pianezza and where he first grabbed my wheel. It was another block before he pulled into a shopping center with a bar (Italian: cafe) tucked away in the corner of what looked to be a shopping mall. We parked our bikes outside and after walking in we were met with a celebrity like welcome. He seemed to know everyone in this bar and especially the employees. It was like a scene from an Italian Cheers. The owner the works, everyone eventually said hello. I am sure they were interested to learn more about this strange character that looked at them with a strange expression every time they spoke to him in Italian. But then again I am sure he was interested to learn more as well. He refused my euros when I insisted on paying for my cappuccino. Then we talked more about cycling (barely, it was the only language we both spoke). We talked about Pantani, Jan Ulrich, his lack of effort and complete waste of talent, EPO and cocaina. When he pulled out his powerbar the bar owner blasted him for taking steroids. He laughed and showed him the “all-natural” stamp on the package. The owner wasn’t convinced, with a huge grin on his face. I ate my banana. My energy bar. Another energy bar and we were off. I had ridden 35 kilometers to get there (only 26 kilometers more to the French border) so I knew after trying to stay with Pantani numero 1 for too long, that my legs would be shot sometime before the next 35k’s finished. And they did. But I made it home, after letting Pantani numero 2 and 3 pass me with a simple “ciao.”
Ride 4
After riding so hard on Sunday (that was originally intended as a long easy ride) I knew I wouldn’t have my best form heading into the week. And I had another challenge on the horizon. Enter Pantani numero 4. Antonio Dedonato. President of Cicli Dedonato Road Runners. Wilier Triestina certified bike seller. English speaker. After meeting him on Saturday I was very excited to ride with him but also very nervous. I am not in good shape and was looking forward to a winter to get back into top shape. Meeting him this early would not give me that luxury.
I sent him a text message early Tuesday morning declaring my intent to ride with him for his lunch time ride. It took me 30 minutes to reach his shop and we left at 12:30pm. He was riding on a Cervelo R5 (another North America frame underneath an Italian) with a Zipp 202 on the front and a Zipp 303 on the back with a full SRAM Red gruppo. That is a pure climbing machine, for those of you who don’t speak cycling. A tour caliber bike that is meant to run up a mountain. Once we got out of the hussle and bussle that is Torino we spent nearly every minute riding side by side and talking and laughing. Much more relaxed than I was nervously expecting. He wants to improve his English and I want to improve my riding. He told me he loved climbing and hated the flats. He told me that I reminded him of Andy Schleck. Has any relationship started on such a solid foundation? If so, I am not aware of any.
We talked about cycling, of course. We talked about Pantani, of course. We talked about Lance, of course. We talked about frames and components. He invited me to watch The Giro (giro di talia) with him from atop the races most difficult finish. Or did he invite me to ride it with him in the summer time? I am unsure but either option is one that I would enjoy more than almost anything. He told me the French Alps are the best (duh) and told me had ridden them all and would love to do it again with me. I told him about an ambitious idea I have to ride from Torino to Paris during a two-week vacation. We rode for about an hour, before he had to return to work. During the ride we passed about 20 women who were all waiting for buses in the middle of nowhere. Very odd how I don’t think any of the areas in which they were standing had any form of a bus stop marker. And they all seemed to be wearing similar outfits, or the lack there of. Hmmm. Strange. Only one was nice enough to say, “ciao.” Strange how they all seemed to want more than a simple hello.
Ah, I forgot one thing I love about cycling: relationships.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.296s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 10; qc: 49; dbt: 0.0523s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb
Mom
non-member comment
Oh, Jake!! It was wonderful to hear more about your passion! Thanks for taking the time to tell us all about it. I could not stop reading and look forward to each entry! Please be careful and continue to have the time of your life!! ILYMTLIS!!