Before Pippo Pozzato and Pippo Ganna, there was Pippo Fallarini. Less strong as a finisher, sprinter, and pursuer, with fewer successes in classics, stages, and championships, Pippo Fallarini could count on a human gift: his smile. And if he couldn't boast the same lightness of pedaling, he did have the lightness of living.

Today is Pippo Fallarini's day: from 10 AM to 12:30 PM and from 2 PM to 6 PM his house in Vaprio d'Agogna, in the Novara region, on Via Campione (almost a paradox, or perhaps a gift, for someone who raced as a domestique for about a decade), becomes a museum thanks to an initiative by FAI with the help of his daughter Grazia; and at 4 PM, right in the house-museum, the book about him written by Fabio Marzaglia will be presented, with Franco Balmamion and Italo Zilioli. Not just jerseys and bikes, photographs and letters, but also stories and words to remember the winner of the Mediterranean Games as an amateur and two stages of the Tour of Europe, a Gran Premio Industria e Commercio in Prato, a Coppa Bernocchi, and a Giro del Lazio as a professional.

Fallarini who began with his farmer and trader father's bike, a Fuchs, removed the fenders and already considered it a racing bike. Fallarini who continued with a racing bike, built by an artisan and lent to him by a cousin who was a kindergarten president, beautiful but too tall, he couldn't pedal, certainly not a minor detail. Fallarini who replaced it with another racing bike, received from Domenico Piemontesi, an old champion and friend of his father.

Fallarini who started racing among juniors without even wearing a race number, it was August 10th, Saint Lawrence's feast day, the patron saint of Vaprio, and he snuck into the group. Fallarini who continued racing, and began winning, in a breakaway with four or five others, finishing in a sprint. Fallarini who to continue racing was forced to help others win, and he would explain that the boss paid and commanded, he obeyed and did his job, taking and bringing water, chasing on the flat and pushing on the climbs.

Fallarini who occasionally received pushes from merciful spectators on climbs, the inflexible commissaires would approach on motorcycles and call out race numbers to issue fines, seven, fifteen, thirty-four, ninety-eight... and Alfredo Martini, hearing his number mentioned, exclaimed "bingo!". Fallarini who never lost his smile even on the darkest days, for example at the Tour de France, in 1958 he was in a breakaway, virtual yellow jersey, but in an echelon he fell, hit his head, broke his shoulder and ended up in the hospital, and in 1959 he was poisoned by food in a hotel.

Fallarini who addressed Fausto Coppi formally, even when Coppi begged him to use the informal "tu", we're both riders after all, explained the Campionissimo, well, but you first, Pippo would comment. Fallarini who, when he won, the parish priest of Vaprio d'Agogna would pull the rope and make the bells ring in celebration, to the point of being summoned by the bishop to contain his enthusiasm in a more moderate and appropriate use.