He pedals well who pedals last. Last like Giuseppe Perna, a Sicilian from Regalbuto, province of Enna, the first last-place finisher at the 1909 Giro d'Italia. He raced - slowly - for a Roman team, but was without a team, that is without teammates except accomplices or allies, brothers and yes, companions, but of adventures and especially misadventures. Since the race was scored by points, he collected more than anyone else, because the winner was whoever scored the fewest, proving that winning or losing is merely a matter of rules and regulations, conventions and conveniences. In the "Gazzetta dello Sport" he was identified among the "stragglers", but also "spirited and confident". He must not have been much of a climber, Perna figured among the "victims", often "in a dusty single file that proceeds rhythmically maintaining distance and effect".
He sprints well who sprints last. Last like Eddy Merckx. Merckx? Merckx, the very one, the Cannibal. At the 1977 World Championships, in San Cristobal, Venezuela, the Cannibal was cannibalized. Under the downpour, Francesco Moser triumphed and last, thirty-third of the 89 starters, Merckx, at 2'32", last - indeed - of the final group of 12 riders. And second-to-last, that is second from the bottom, an eternal second like Raymond Poulidor. To show that first can be last and second can be second-to-last, proving that it's also a matter of perspective.
He climbs well who climbs last. Climbs, from the verb to grimpe, from French grimpe, to scale, to clamber, to ascend. In this case last like Mikhaylo Khalilov, a Ukrainian Italicized, resident in a town in the Piacenza area with a name hardly suited to cyclists: Rottofreno. I remember Khalilov last, but so last that he finished outside the time limit on the Zoncolan stage at the Giro d'Italia, it was the twelfth stage in 2003, starting from San Donà di Piave, finishing on the Kaiser, 185 kilometers, the last ones vertical. Statistics report 153 classified riders (the one hundred fifty-third, Danish rider Bak, at 28'34" from Gibo Simoni, and shortly after Brad Wiggins, one hundred forty-fourth at 28'11") and seven marked DNF, did not finish (among them also Tiralongo and Cipollini). But Khalilov finished the stage and reached the summit. I was waiting for him. He was exhausted. I asked him why he had subjected himself to that ordeal, especially since he was suffering from stomach pain. And he replied that they had talked to him so much about the Zoncolan that he wanted to see what it felt like from the top.
He pedals well (and sprints well, and climbs well) who pedals (and sprints, and climbs) last. Like everyone who will participate in the
Slow Cyclist Festival, in Ferrara from Friday 23 to Sunday 25 October, with the now classic program based on the concert and storytelling of the first evening, on the slowest ride on planet Earth (5 km in 5 hours, from 10 to 15, in the center of the city of bicycles, among guided tours and tastings) of the second day and the gran fondo of the afternoon snack (starting at 9, 45 km, in the woods and along the banks of the Po) of the third day. A traveling spectacle, a wandering appointment, a misleading encounter, an embarrassing confrontation, in short an original and special celebration, open indeed wide open to all, all provided they are slow, prudent, circumspect, phlegmatic, relaxed, sly, apathetic, weak, indolent, sluggish, lazy, reluctant, soft, sluggish. So much so that the motto, slogan, anthem of the event is
"blessed are the last who know how to enjoy life". To learn more,
www.ciclistalento.it.
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Ritratti
Oscar
Albi d'Oro
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