Five days until the Giro d'Italia 2025. Waiting for Roglic and Ayuso, Bernal and Carapaz, Ciccone and Tiberi, Van Aert and Pidcock, we live the countdown through the stories of former protagonists. Today, -5 to the start, it's Italo Zilioli's turn.

Gentlemen, let's pedal. Ask the cyclists of yesteryear, captains and domestiques, ask the sports fans, from the roadside or TV, ask the road and ask the dust. And everyone, road and dust included, will confirm that Italo Zilioli is a gentleman, he was on pedals, he is on foot, he was on the bicycle, he is with the accordion or simply with memories, reasoning and stories. At the Giro d'Italia, five stage wins, three times second, once third, once fourth and once fifth in the final classification.

Zilioli, your strongest moment?

"Giro of 1970, the stage from Terracina to Rivisondoli, I broke away from the leading group with an acceleration at Roccaraso, maintained the pace and kept the advantage on the flat, then the uphill finish, 13 seconds before Bitossi, 26 before the other chasers, with Merckx and Gimondi. Yes, quite a performance."

From the Anquetil years to those of Merckx.

"Two champions, one more than the other. Anquetil was unbeatable, Merckx even more so, until time began to wear them down. I tried to manage, little strategy, lots of instinct. Three second places, and other placements, might seem like a curse or a jinx and weigh like a regret or even an obsession. The truth is that I probably wasn't a rider for grand tours, but for shorter races, which is why I managed to win week-long races like Tirreno-Adriatico or the Catalan Week."

If he could go back?

"If I went back, with my current mindset, I would do exactly the same things I chose to do and did then, and thus collect second places and placements. I did what I could, giving everything I had inside, my maximum. I raced to have a clear conscience, and I do. The truth is that a different mentality would have been needed. I was made this way, I was that person."

A team leader?

"Never. I wasn't one, didn't do it, didn't even feel like it. I felt I had something extra uphill, and there I tried to leave them behind me. But I didn't ask, didn't demand, didn't expect. I wasn't even a half-leader, over the years I raced with Balmamion, Gimondi, Bitossi, Gosta Pettersson, Merckx... The real leaders were Gimondi and Moser, who used the 'whip' with domestiques - so to speak. Not even Merckx was: in the early years he was so strong he did everything alone, only in the last years was he almost forced to plan his teammates' work to face younger and more aggressive opponents."

Did Merckx teach you how to lose?

"Others learned to be happy with a second place as if it were first, to enjoy any podium step as if it were the highest. Instead, Eddy taught me how to win. One year, 1970, together on the same team. And in the same room. One Giro, one morning, in a hotel near Riva del Garda, nothing like five-star hotels today, even two stars seemed a luxury. After breakfast, before the start. Eddy put on his shorts, adjusting them, then the jersey, making it fit his lungs and sides, then socks, smoothing the creases, then looked in the mirror on a wardrobe door, ordered 'Italo, let's go!' and punched the dresser. I was stunned. I had witnessed the dressing of not just a champion cyclist, but a warrior. Those weren't shorts, jersey and socks, but armor, lance and shield. Or perhaps, or also, sacred vestments before the midnight sung mass at St. Peter's."

In 1970, he won about ten races.

"It wasn't by chance. Other cyclists find and draw strength and energy from within themselves, I perhaps had little and had to seek and find it outside myself and within others. Eddy managed to transmit them to me. He infected me. And I found the confidence I was missing. And I found the authority I didn't display. I would have had domestiques at my disposal, but only once did I invoke their help. Tirreno-Adriatico in 1975, Frascati-Monte Livata stage, a breakaway of three, Panizza, Perletto and me. Perletto and I from Magniflex, so Panizza wasn't pulling a meter, playing his game, even if we risked being caught. With 3 km to go, I asked Perletto to pull a bit for me, so I could catch my breath for the sprint. He did, I won, my last victory, and for this, from that day, I'm deeply grateful to him."

More pushes given or received?

"Those received, even if never asked for. Given, only one, but you have to be capable of it, and I didn't prove to be. Tour of Canada, 1972, a massive sprint, like pirates, without today's controls, some American-style exchanges seemed silently authorized. I attempted one with my Belgian teammate Reybrouck, and almost made him crash. With the added insult that I was seen, demoted and penalized, and so was he. Fortunately, he would win another stage, in which I didn't even minimally try to help him, that is, harm him."

The American-style exchange is a six-day race specialty.

"I raced only one, or rather, half. In Milan, in 1966. I was hired and, flattered, curious and also scared, I participated. I was paired with the great, extremely great Rik Van Steenbergen. 'He is the Master,' they told me. 'He will teach you,' they reassured me. To familiarize with the track at the velodrome in piazza VI Febbraio, I went three or four days before the start of the Six Days. The parquet, the curves, especially the bicycle without brakes. Van Steenbergen arrived only a few hours before the starting shot. So much for teachings: bonjour, bonsoir, and off we go. No time to warm up, some bulbs blew, glasses shattered on the track, I punctured, terrified myself, extracted my feet from the pedals and it took me two laps to stop. I lasted two or three days, then was neutralized. The truth is the other cyclists seemed all excited, pumped up, I instead raced conservatively thinking about the road season, in short, I was totally unsuited. The others slept in track changing rooms, I had permission to go to a hotel with Carbunin, Gerolamo Craviotto, masseur for Genoa and Coppi and other infinitely inferior cyclists like me. But even in the hotel I couldn't sleep, partly due to my usual insomnia, partly due to race worries. I'd turn off the light, then turn it back on and, while I was at it, wash my clothes. And Carbunin would watch me, first incredulous, then resigned."

This Giro?

"I'm leaving for Albania, invited by Albanian friends, my neighbors. It can't get better than this."