The black jerseys: the last in the general classification, the first in the sentimental one. Because black jerseys belong to domestiques, in perpetual struggle with the time limit and minimal energy reserves. The most human and the most humble. The most like us. This is the third installment, dedicated to Giuliano Cazzolato.

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1980 Giro d'Italia. The twenty-second stage (plus the prologue) and final stage is a procession, a carousel, a festival, a circuit: 112 km, from Milan to Milan, compact peloton. With everything already decided: for the pink jersey, Bernard Hinault, with almost six minutes over Wladimiro Panizza and more than six over Giovanni Battaglin; for the points jersey, Beppe Saronni; for the mountains jersey, Claudio Bortolotto; for the white jersey, Swedish Tommy Prim; and for the team standings, Bianchi. Even for the reverse classification, with the black jersey at stake, everything seems already decided: first, that is last, Heinz Betz, a German rider from a German team, about ten minutes of advantage, that is, of delay, over Giuliano Cazzolato.

But what about Cazzolato?

“Last lap, the peloton concentrated on the final sprint, I slip away, I see Betz pass, engaged, all the appearance of wanting to participate in the sprint, I pull over, I stop and blend in with the spectators”.

And the spectators?

“They ask me what happened, if something happened to me or my bike. I don't know what to answer, I mumble some excuse. Meanwhile time passes. And I let it pass. And the first team cars also pass. One minute, two, three… Then the second team cars also pass. Four minutes, five, six… Then the support vehicles pass… Seven minutes, eight, nine… Then the last police escorts pass… Ten minutes, eleven, twelve… I check the time limit, I get back on my bike before the broom wagon, I cross the finish line, a man alone in command, even if starting from the bottom, by a gap, and what a gap”.

Last in the order of arrival, 16'01" behind winner Pierino Gavazzi, and last in the general classification, 3:44'07" behind Hinault and 4'47" behind Betz.

“The black jersey wasn't my objective. But one day my teammate Luciano Loro gets a flat tire. Same characteristics, same size as captain Mario Beccia, and he's his last climber. So I stop, give him my wheel and wait for the team car. Not the first one, the one with Dino Zandegù, which follows Beccia and Loro. But the second one, the one at the back of the group. I wait, wait, but the team car doesn't arrive. Maybe they stopped to take a break. When I finally get back on my bike, I'm content to arrive within the time limit. And I end up in last place. As I go along, that last place in the classification starts to tempt me. I have my brief moments of glory, my small space of fame. I get recognized, pointed out. They ask me to pose for a photo next to the pink jersey. They mention me on TV. But in the race I don't control my rivals and that Betz, two minutes today, two tomorrow, takes away my lead. And that's how, to turn the situation around, I resort to the last day”.

Who knows what joy.

“The prize, if I remember correctly, was 500,000 lire, divided among all my teammates. In the final chaos, the organizers forget to give me the black jersey. And since there's only one, which passes from the old last to the new last, I go home without it. Until one day two arrive for me, the official one and the spare. Now, between one move and another cleanup, I only have the spare one left”.

Three years as a professional, no victories.

“The first bike a Piave, at eight or nine years old. The first racing bike a Simonato, a cyclist from my town, Montebelluna, and the second a Pinarello bought at Nane's shop, owner of a black jersey far more prestigious than mine. The first race as a junior, at 14 years old, finished in the group. The first victory that same year, near Mira, in a sprint after a two-man breakaway. As an amateur I'm almost more proud of certain placings (Montebelluna-Pianezze, Col San Martino…) than of certain victories (Tombolo, Spinea…). Three years as a professional, called by Beccia, with whom I always trained. At a Giro del Veneto I did 150 km alone, I was nurturing the dream of a victory, I was caught about thirty km from the finish. So much effort for nothing. And it was just as well to dedicate myself to my teammates. And so, domestique”.

Now?

“After 40 years of street trading at markets, with Manuela we're full-time grandparents. Raising Sofia in a serene, sunny, happy environment. That's our mission”.