"Hello?" "It's Talla". He, François Talla, the protagonist of chapter 40 of my book "Black Roads" (Ediciclo).

At our agreed meeting point in front of Padua's railway station, Talla arrived slightly late (it's said Europeans have watches, Africans have time) and parked his delivery van in a risky spot that would surely warrant a ticket if he hadn't displayed all possible permits.

Taller (who knows why?) than I had imagined, of an indefinable age (though 52 years old, he'll be 53 on February 24), with a ready smile and serene gaze, Talla told me how, after that Giro delle Regioni in 2003 where he often broke away from the wrong end of the group, not the front ("We were professionals in name only, because we trained and raced and earned - nothing - like amateurs, while the others were amateurs in name only, because they trained, raced and earned like professionals"), he truly went on the run ("Here in Padua, four years of illegality, eating and sleeping wherever I could, hiding, surviving by distributing leaflets in mailboxes"), until he finally managed to legalize his status ("Then I brought my girlfriend from Cameroon, Suzanne Abouno, we got married, had three sons, all boys, Bryan Manuel who is now twenty, Jayson Shiloh who is fourteen, and Angelo Leandro who is ten") and improve his professional situation ("Driving a van during the day, working as a newspaper distributor at night"), essentially settling down (he lives in Rubano, Dino Zandegù's Bethlehem!).

Talla overwhelmed me with his memories, the first races, the first victory, the victory in the Cameroon championship, still cycling now with a group of Padua cycling enthusiasts, sending suitcases to Cameroon to gift jerseys, shorts, and shoes to young local cyclists, the thousand difficulties a cyclist faces in Cameroon, so much so that in his village, Bameka, so small it doesn't appear on maps, not far from the economic capital Douala, there isn't even a bicycle shop. And for any problem, from the frame to brakes and gears, you have to rely on a blacksmith who manages as best he can.

Talla, to whom I gave a copy of "Black Roads", read the chapter dedicated to him, found some inaccuracies that will be corrected, if ever reprinted, then happy and content told me that "now they'll finally believe me when I say I was a cyclist". Why not? "Because they claim that Black people don't know how to ride a bicycle".

Talla and I will meet again. Promised. If he decides to write a book about his racing and running stories, I could help him. My right hand. With paper and pen.

(end of second installment - end)

(link to the first installment https://www.tuttobiciweb.it/article/2026/02/11/1770738673/ciclismo-storie-incredibili-giro-delle-regioni)