Theme: "What do you want to be when you grow up?". Response: "When I grow up, I want to be a cyclist who rides a bicycle. That way, when the Giro d'Italia passes through the national route, I'll be there and greet the locals". Luigi Mele would keep his word: professional from late 1960 to the end of 1964 (plus about ten races in 1966 with a Swiss team), three Giri d'Italia and a book, "The Singing Domestique" written by his son, Silver Mele, and published on Amazon, which tells his story. Starting from that day in May 1949 when, in a town in Caserta, Calvi Risorta, on the Casilina road, "down the street", he saw the peloton pass by. "Fausto Coppi was there and just beyond Gino Bartali, but the encouragement was also for Magni, Cottur, Leoni, Astrua. The love and respect for these men united all fans in a solidarity: that cycling was much more than a sport. It was an anthem to equality, to a race that was finally restarting for a better future, where everyone could have their say and play their card".

From playing in the streets of Calvi Risorta ("The manual for hunting bombs was simple: either export the detonator to make it harmless or pull out the fuse to then sell the casing for a few coins to the scrap metal man") to those in Turin, where he had emigrated with his family in search of fortune ("The train of hope on which, in Sparanise, we loaded our poor things was for me the first, true discovery", "The 18-hour journey", "My sprints" on his father's bike "slaloming between trams and cars"), from the challenge with Nino Defilippis ("The challenging climb to Pino Torinese, 5 kilometers and 400 meters of elevation, without putting hands on the handlebars") to the collection from classmates ("Here, Mele" - said the teacher - "take these home so your mother can buy you long pants and a pair of shoes").

Mele's first Giro was the centenary in 1961. And he started it as captain. He discovered this himself by reading an interview with Nino Rota and Charly Gaul in the "Gazzetta dello Sport". The first stage, 115 kilometers, started and finished in Turin. "Anyone can win - Gaul replied to Rota - especially a sprinter who can defend himself in the mountains. Anyway, La Maddalena is not my climb and tomorrow the team leader will be Gigi Mele", "he's from Turin and is dying to stand out". It didn't go that way, but never mind. It was an unlucky Giro: tonsillitis, fever, the seventh stage from Reggio Calabria to Cosenza and a fall, "I regained consciousness the next day in a hospital room in Paola".

Better his second Giro, in 1963, now a domestique. "During the stage arriving in Pescara, a big fish fell into the net" - the net, that of the stragglers; the big fish, a classified rider - "named Adorni. We found him 60 kilometers from the finish, stopped at a fountain. We had 20 minutes of delay. I remember that, 20 kilometers from the finish, we already knew who had won the stage. When we arrived, they were dismantling the stage. They had only left the sector reserved for the 'Stage Trial' because Zavoli was still waiting for Adorni. For us escorting him, in a way, it was a day of glory".

Even better his third Giro, in 1964, still a domestique but with more freedom. "I had set my sights on the tricolor targets. So I often ended up in breakaways or initiated them with attacks and accelerations to contest the sprint points with not quite compact groups". That day of hail, a couple of minutes late with other teammates, when the sports director hit him "you'd do well to get off the bicycle, maybe try being hairdressers". That same day when he not only rejoined the group but escaped with another guy from Caserta, Alberto Marzaioli, then remained alone, until at the last curve his gear lever jammed, "I got off the bike and tried to fix the damage with my hands" and "was overtaken just after the red triangle of the last kilometer". That day, the last one, the final arrival at the Vigorelli in Milan, narrowly beaten in the sprint only by Willy Altig, a disappointment never overcome, never forgotten, Adriano De Zan wanting him on the stage: "I didn't go to the RAI microphone: I knew I would cry". What a Giravolta.