At the Cycling World Championships in Rwanda, Tom Ritchey is not present, who redesigned the "coffee bikes", bikes for transporting coffee sacks. Jock Boyer is not there, who set up, organized, and launched the racing team and races, starting with the Tour of Rwanda. And Carlo Scandola is not there either, who collected, shipped, and distributed bikes, jerseys, shorts, and shoes - voluntarily, for free - to countless Rwandan boys and girls. Three fundamental protagonists. And yet. Ritchey and Boyer are Americans from New Jersey and Utah, Scandola is from Negrar, Verona. He is 83 years old. His passion for cycling dates back to the 1950s and 1960s, first as a practitioner, then as a fan, and finally as a missionary. Because his was truly a mission, with no economic return, if not a loss. The search for used or nearly new, or even better new material, leftovers from collections, warehouse bottoms, wardrobe relics, then adventurous, risky shipments, as customs are known in certain countries, a good reason to block and ask for money, make profits, pocket cash. Scandola also participated in the Tour of Rwanda, at his own expense for travel, at the organization's expense during the race, in guesthouses and canteens that are certainly not the hotels and restaurants seen on TV now. Before departure and after arrival, in Kigali, he was a guest of an old friend who emigrated to Rwanda, "in the lion's den", a fabulous place in its modesty and simplicity, in its hospitality and essentiality.

Scandola's virtues (I write about this in my "Black Roads", Ediciclo), beyond generosity, were the ability to make himself understood without knowing a word of English but speaking a plumber's French with a Venetian accent and Neapolitan gestures; knowledge of the rules of the game, not only in cycling's great occasions, but in everyday life; and humanity, a quality immediately recognized, at different levels, among those who go there for business, or by chance, or out of curiosity, or by nature, or for sports, or for tourism, or - like him - for passion. I would also add that Carlo had a remarkable journalistic spirit, which does not mean knowing how to write an article, but being able to smell a story, identify a character, follow a trail. Scandola helped me a lot in races we experienced together and in others followed separately across continents. He would accompany me to orphanages, schools, markets, introduce me to homes, huts, courtyards, present me to riders, sports directors, jury presidents, suggest, encourage, and push me. Who knows, perhaps someone might have defined us "the odd couple". But no one would have ever said "watch out for those two". He donated bikes and gloves, I gave interviews and portraits.

Scandola's was a mission. It is no longer so. One day they communicated to him from Rwanda that they would only accept brand new bicycles and clothing. And that his valuable, free (if not at a loss), anonymous, and humanitarian trade ceased. What a pity.