Friuli thanks and does not forget: it's written on the pink jersey, dedicated to the fiftieth anniversary of the fatal earthquake, but to lift spirits the slogan works just fine for this last (real) stage of the 2026 Giro. Right on schedule, Vinge wins, and from now on he'll have to be called Vingegaard even on his birth certificate. He certainly didn't need this extra to take home the 2026 Giro, but like a true champion he doesn't hold back. He does it honoring the jersey, the Giro, and above all Friuli. Because this land more than any other deserves it, the true pink jersey of passion and participation (unfortunately, there's also a tribute of life: in the morning, climbing towards Piancavallo, a 70-year-old amateur dies, in the exercise of his pleasure).

There's truly everything in this unforgettable closing day. Unfortunately, we have to wait until the very last challenge to see what cycling can still move, what cycling can still be. Spectacle, atmosphere, feelings: a true day like Alpe d'Huez. Piancavallo becomes a Woodstock of bicycles, the campsites, the barbecues, the families, the fooling around, the costumes and of course yes, certainly yes, rivers of prosecco, and if it's not prosecco or Tocai or Sauvignon, anyway nothing that causes damage to the race, the miracle of cycling renews itself, multitudes on the road without anyone dreaming of acting like a madman.

The secret of the resounding success, at the end of the quiet and austere Giro seen in so many Italian regions? Vinge's solo. The beautiful day. The healthy Friuli passion sown over time by the late Cainero. It all fits. If I may, I would add the double passage on the big climb. A choice that should be embraced and repeated, perhaps on weekends, offering the people of the hairpins the opportunity to spend an entire day at the event, not the usual waiting for hours and hours for a fleeting passage, which always leaves you a bit hungry. Obviously, it's free and dispassionate advice directed at whoever designs the Giro: next year will be the first designed by Stefano Allocchio, someone who still retains the taste of a certain branded cycling, I have reason to think he'll consider it.

In the meantime, by bitter irony of fate, the great celebration frames the darkest day. In its own way, it's a historic, unique and unforgettable day: right here, right in this way, closes the most disastrous Giro ever for Italian cycling. My incomparable statistics pusher, Michele Merlino, confirms it for me, known to friends as Mago, coincidentally also a Friuli native. This is the verdict: it has never happened in its century-old history that the Giro d'Italia didn't have an Italian in the top seven in the final standings. Piganzoli (a young rider) eighth and Caruso (a very old one) are not enough to mitigate the event. It officially turns out to be the most disastrous Giro ever for us Italians.

If I were sadistic, I would add that the tragic record arrives moreover at the end of an edition not particularly crowded with champions (understatement). But I won't because surely in the century-old history there are Giros equally poor in beautiful people at the start. Let's not get lost in details, when the finger points at the moon let's leave the finger to those we know and look straight at the moon: whatever Giro it was in terms of participants, it remains nonetheless our worst Giro of all time.

It doesn't seem to me that other words are needed, for those who wish to begin honest and sincere reflections. I say it here, I sign it here and immediately I withdraw. I leave it to those who know better to explain how instead this Giro should make us satisfied and proud.

Go with the fanfares, Rome awaits us, music maestro.