Bruno Pizzul - a voice, a body - has accompanied us throughout our lives. These days, his words, his comments, his expressions echo back. Baggio's penalty, Branco's free kick, the night of Heysel, Rivera's class, but also the Coppa Bernocchi. And by rummaging through some papers and a bit of the heart, this story resurfaced. I had gone to visit him to interview him for BC magazine, we settled in the bar under his Milan home on Via Losanna, bike against the wall and coffee on the table, he even with a cigarette outside his wife's jurisdiction, the Tigre, who set limits and safeguarded lungs.

I asked Bruno how many bicycles he had owned and he replied: "An encyclopedia. Those of noble lineage, some gifted, are the most dangerous: because they get stolen. Bianchi, Pinarello, Colnago... Marino Basso, world professional road champion in 1972 and later a team manager, promised me a racing bike, which I asked to have with a touring handlebar. Finally, a bike was delivered to me, but without any markings. One day, in Milan, at a traffic light on Corso Sempione, a driver honked to greet me. I stopped: it was Dino Zandegù, Basso's historic rival in sprints. We greeted each other and I seized the opportunity to say: 'You always speak badly of Basso, and look what gift he made me'. Zandegù got out of the car, examined the bicycle, then declared: 'This bike is mine'. And he explained that he was in training camp with his team, Malvor-Bottecchia, on Lake Garda, when one night all their bikes were stolen. And, according to him, this was one of those, repainted and modified".

Zandegù, just to not let Basso win. Zandegù, one of his stories, surprising, hilarious, 90 percent true.