There are men who win without needing applause. Men whose greatness is not measured in titles or trophies, but in coherence, dignity, and the simplicity with which they face life. Franco Balmamion is one of them. Today he turns 86, and every time I hear his voice, I see Gigi, my father, and the extraordinary friendship that bound them: a bond made of silent gestures, trust, and mutual respect. Talking to Franco is still talking to Gigi.

Franco was not a flashy champion. He didn't seek the spotlight or chase after cameras. Yet, in those years, with the regularity of a Swiss watch, he won two consecutive Giri d'Italia – in 1962 and 1963 – without winning a single stage. An achievement that seems impossible today, but which already told everything: the strength of consistency, the mastery of reading a race, anticipating movements, resisting and choosing the right moments.

Born in Nole, in lower Canavese, in 1940, Franco was young but with the sense of measure of a veteran. From the Milano-Torino he won in his second year as a professional to the pink triumph of Lecco-Casale Monferrato, everything in his journey speaks of balance and foresight. He didn't attack to be noticed, didn't force his hand: he moved forward, day after day, pedal stroke after pedal stroke, until the result arrived, silent and deserved.

He was "The Eagle of Canavese", but an eagle with a light step. He never needed protagonism, neither in races nor outside. That's why, even today, Franco Balmamion, rightfully entered into the Giro d'Italia Hall of Fame, is the perfect symbol of an ancient cycling: long vision, respect, human value. He won with intelligence, without ever losing life's measure, without ever losing the sense of duty to family, team, and public.

And even in his rare defeats, like in the 1964 Giro or the 1967 Tour, Franco showed a lesson worth more than a victory: dignity. He didn't complain, didn't seek excuses. He continued to race, to give his maximum, to respect the race, with all its unwritten rules. His long and measured career brought him among the greats without ever betraying his nature: a discreet, but unforgettable champion.

"I was there in front, that was enough for me," he would say in an interview, explaining his way of experiencing competition. Never over the top, never seeking applause. Only the Pink Jersey, effort, and heart. His career was a hymn to regularity: a lesson in courage, fairness, and respect for himself and others. And even today, at 86, Franco remains a model, not only for cycling enthusiasts but for anyone who believes that greatness can exist without blinding lights.

Last year, I gave him the Napoli jersey with number 10, the jersey of phenomena: Diego's jersey, the greatest of all. He, a Torino fan, wore it with pride, like a silent tribute to a bond that crosses generations and friendships. And I understood once again how great Franco was: not just for what he won, but for how he lived, for the values he left, for the kindness and measure with which he faced every day.

Today we celebrate Franco Balmamion not only as the oldest living Giro winner, not only as the last Italian to win two consecutive Giri. We celebrate him for his humanity, for his ability to remain himself in a world that often runs too fast. Happy birthday, Franco: the Giro, and those of us who knew you, will never forget you.