He was chasing. The opponent on the other side of the ellipse, on the other bank of the track. Like in a mirror, like an illusion. Like a ghost, like a mirage. Chasing in an attempt to precede him, hoping to catch up. The counterclockwise direction almost a paradoxical condemnation for someone who had to fight against time. The counterclockwise direction as if the bicycle were a time machine capable of going back, climbing, catching up and - precisely - pursuing. How can you not call it destiny?

Head and tail. Franco Testa has died, a pursuit specialist, gold at the 1960 Rome Olympics and silver at the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. He was 87 years old (born in Padua on February 7, 1938). Yet, in his challenge against time, it seemed he had won: the years had shrunk him, it seemed impossible that he had excelled in a specialty where today all champions, starting with Ganna and Milan, look like giants stolen from basketball or volleyball or rowing, but his lucidity, his irony, his simplicity had made him an ageless ambassador of an era now remote and increasingly romantic.

I had invited him in 2018 for a meeting with a school class in Fonzaso, in the Feltre area. With him were other precious sports witnesses: Antonio Uliana, a gregario from a still Bartali and Coppi-like eternal cycling, who was - sixth! - at the polar finish line of the Bondone in the 1956 Giro d'Italia; Andrea Peron, interpreter of a more scientific and technological cycling, world champion and Olympic vice-champion in the team pursuit of the hundred kilometers, a sort of very long road pursuit; that big guy Paolone Vidoz, boxing, heavyweight in verbal exchanges as well as manual ones; and Giordano Cremonese, rugby player and cross-country skier, above all patron of that Manifattura Valcismon which with the Sportful, Castelli and Karpos brands accompanies us in the adventurous and educational world of sports.

Testa was from Padua, spoke dialect and translated himself into Italian: "As an amateur, at Trevigiani, they even gave me the bicycle, besides the jersey... a Piave... it was very important for me to have the team's bicycle, it was a recognition, so much so that once, when they put it in doubt, I told them 'Ah yes, then I'll go somewhere else', and then they gave it to me". Testa was stubborn, for someone like him it was hard to stand up to him, he did everything his own way: "I trained every day on my own, I would wake up at dawn and go running, I would run around our countryside, galloping it far and wide, in summer and winter, in the dark and in the light, with sun or rain, sometimes even snow".

And when he remembered those Roman holidays of 1960, he was irresistible, at least as much as when he was pedaling at the head of the team: "The retreat in the convent of nuns at Frattocchie, when we arrived, there were several nuns, even young, even pretty... we arranged our luggage in the rooms assigned to us, and in the evening we all met for dinner. From that moment on, in all occasions, we only saw elderly nuns".

Heads and tails. Testa has died, and of that fantastic cycling team now remain five champions: Toni Bailetti, Beppe Beghetto, Sergio Bianchetto, Livio Trapè and Marino Vigna. But of Testa, his "Flying" will always remain - books have the gift of eternity -, his story as a butcher-cyclist, told by Lucio Carraro for Unigraf with the patronage of the Municipality of Mogliano Veneto (126 pages, without price indication, part of the proceeds donated to AIL). Black and white photographs, family and racing, songs and nursery rhymes, memories and testimonies, including that of Fausto Coppi ("Franco, you are strong, you have style and talent to spare, next year you'll be in my team"). And fantastic episodes. That time Testa had decided to quit cycling and dedicate himself to butchery, but didn't know how to explain and justify himself, finally saying "but I would also have to live", and then Severino Rigoni, the technician at Padovani, put 50,000 lire in his hand, an worker's monthly wage. Or that time Testa, at the table, before the Rome Games, saw that Sante Gaiardoni was being served a second steak, while he and the others had nothing: "Commissioner - he said to Guido Costa - this is not right, who are we? This is not right, I'm about to leave!"