Italy unknown

I wake up early.
The air is cold, the light still dull.
I breathe slowly. I listen.
A dog, a rooster, nothing else.
I get up, put on my clothes that are still damp, close the door quietly.
Outside it smells of soil, of bread baking somewhere.
Breakfast is not served.
It is found.
A bar that opens really early, a hot coffee, a crumbly brioche.
Sometimes just a sip of water or something left in my pocket.
That’s fine.

I have no schedule.
I set off when I feel like it, arrive when I can.
It depends more on the road than on me.
The wind, the gradient, the wish to see what’s around the next bend.
A trattoria for lunch, if I come across one.
A paper tablecloth, the dish of the day, a glass of wine.
I eat slowly, listen to other people talking, then set off again.
It is a long afternoon.
The sun beats down, my sweat burns.
Every climb seems endless, but eventually comes to an end.
And when it does, everything falls into place:
the sound of the wheels, the breathing, the thinking.
For a moment, everything is fine.

Evening comes unannounced.
I look for a room, hopefully I can find one.
Clean sheets, a lukewarm shower, a window without a view.
Bland skies.
That’s enough for me.
I have dinner anywhere I can.
Hot food, tasty new flavours, a beer, a few words with someone I will never see again.
Then silence.
Tiredness that weighs heavily on me but doesn’t hurt.
Not much else.
Just this balance, between fatigue and freedom.
This feeling of being alive, even when it hurts.
I will do it all over again tomorrow.
As long as I feel like it.
As long as I have the legs for it.
As long as I have the stamina.

Davide Marta

Sure, if only I had decided to do more turbo training last winter instead of going out for beers with friends on Wednesday nights, it would all be very different now. I’d probably be a couple of kilos lighter too. You see, I don’t think I can make it up that climb. So I’d better stick to the flats. Wow, over 100 kilometres on the first day, 140 on the second, and 80 on the third. I can’t handle all that time in the saddle. And in summer, with that heat, who knows if there will be any fountains to top up my water bottles. Even if there was water, it would be warm. Not like in the mountains, where it is always ice cold and refreshing. But I’m not fit enough and don’t have the right gear for the mountains. Yeah, I will stick to the flats in mid-season, that’s perfect for me.

It’s just too cold in winter, the days are short, and I don’t have the right clothes. I should at least buy a pair of long pants and a new jacket, but then I won’t be able to wash and dry them for the next day: it’s winter! I’ve made my mind up: riding on the flats in mid-season is fine. I just hope it doesn’t rain too much in autumn, otherwise that will be a problem. So I’ll ride in spring, but first there’s Easter, then May Day bank holiday, not to forget my nephew’s First Communion. And, in the blink of an eye, it’s already summer, and it’s too hot in summer. But to be honest, riding on the flats is really boring. Hills are better, something more rolling. Yeah, something hilly! But will I be able to handle those double-digit climbs? The climbs over there are very short, but they really knock you out. I’m not a pro, after all.

But if I eat a gel and an energy bar every 40 minutes, maybe I can manage it. Too bad gels make me feel sick and I don’t know where to put the bars. If I had some new bikepacking bags, then it would be a completely different story: first of all, I would always have some dry kit and be able to ride even in winter, plus I would have plenty of room for food. Of course it’s hard to resist temptation on long rides, and I already know that I’ll be scoffing cheese and cured meats at lunch time, washed down with a glass of wine. If I had a different cassette or lost a couple of kilos or had proper clothing or new, bigger bags, it wouldn’t be a big issue. Or maybe I should just listen to my mum and not hang out with those daft friends of mine, who stop me from turbo training on Wednesday nights.

Stefano Francescutti