I spend the morning at the start listening to extremely confident technicians: watch out for Roglic, who has ridden well so far, has hidden himself, wasted nothing, and is waiting for the real stages before striking decisively. He needs just one blow, the definitive knockout, to take home the Giro.

I'm at the finish line a few hours later: Roglic arrives with the eyes of a cocker spaniel kicked around, what's left of him is saved by our Del Toro, aka Giulio Pellizzari from San Severino (same age, opposite destinies: the first can freely play his Giro, our guy must sacrifice his to babysit the declining captain).

All this to say what: making predictions in this Giro, but ultimately always and everywhere, is very difficult. Anything can happen. Prudence would suggest not presenting one's opinions as certainties, but such prudence is not very widespread. The moral remains: saying that the young guy in pink could stay in pink until Rome is not blasphemy.

The experts always warn that he's very young, that the last week is terrible, that the music changes and such a young leader might reveal fundamental limits of endurance, resistance, and mental strength.

I'll report this, but I don't even dream of agreeing with it. In this wonderful era, we've too often seen young guys overturn the experts' dogmas, with their courage, strength, talent, and I would add especially their personality. This Del Toro is increasingly likable, increasingly convincing. In my opinion, even more so than his "captain" Ayuso.

In the most beautiful mountain stage faced so far – the first, the only one – the child leader once again displays an exciting confidence and tranquility. It's finally the day of "Viva la Fuga", with the stage hunters breaking away (this Verona is magnificent, he's an entire Veneto region), behind in the GC classification Bernal and Carapaz attack, Tiberi starts badly after the Gorizia crash but then recovers as god intended, the highly-rated Roglic immediately goes into deficit, and up front Del Toro orchestrates the dance at his pleasure, first personally blocking Bernal and Carapaz's attacks, then launching the big hunt for Roglic, in the finale exploiting his rivals' collaboration, a new party of willing riders to take down the struggling favorite.

It's a beautiful day of true Giro, comparable to the Strade Bianche: this time, however, the results aren't decided by crashes, but by bare-handed slaps exchanged by the GC gentlemen. Above all, I want and must elevate two young guys, a 21-year-old in the pink jersey, and another approaching 38, the timeless and indestructible Damiano Caruso. Seeing them pedal up front all day, one playing the champion, the other playing for the joy of playing his passion, reconciles us with the poetic beauty of this sport. The kid and the big daddy move with the same agility, the same ease, the same satisfaction. They're divided by a geological era, by opposite mentalities, educations, and cultures, but in the end you find them united and similar in the same childlike tremors. Del Toro imagines his decisive third week talking about curiosity, wondering if he'll manage to be this Del Toro until Rome, Caruso tells me at the finish line "yes, I'm good, but don't believe me, I'm going all out, I can't know if I'll be able to hold on like this until Rome".

They could almost be father and son, yet they experience the Giro in the same way, with the same amazements and enchantments. These are the faces and revelations that keep the greatest Italian race standing, despite the snobbery of the big shots who have avoided and despised it, impoverishing its meanings. Thanks to them, to the Del Toros and Carusos. Two different calligraphies to write the same story. Tell me how you can't root for them.