Still Alive and Kicking

Folks,
Really sorry to have abandoned you recently. Being my first attempt at blogging it didn’t dawn on me how little time I have during the busy guiding season. Currently I am in Verona working a tour for Julie Gildred and her company, RIde Strong Tours. Julie and I worked together a few years ago and found the experience to our liking. This year we will be doing two tours together, this one in the Veneto and one in late July in the Dolomites.

At least the weather has finally improved! Just two weeks ago I was guiding Canadians in chilly, rainy conditions. Now it’s 30 degrees C and the sun is typically Italian. Strong.

There would be plenty to write about. I just need to find the time. I have discovered though that I have more free time when I’m on the road. When I’m at home and guiding it feels like non stop work. I’ll be back on-line as soon as possible.

The Pain Brothers

A funny title for a post, I know. That is the name I gave to four guys who come to Tuscany every year from Colorado to ride themselves into the ground. They have a strange idea of what constitutes a vacation, for them it means riding from morning till late afternoon every day they’re on Italian soil. I first met Jeff Matous in the late 90′s when I was working with Andy Hampsten’s Cinghiale Cycle Tours. He came on several tours with Andy and then began coming with two other friends before a fourth friend joined up last year.

Two years ago they hired me to guide them for a week’s riding and we covered a lot of ground. After three punishing days riding in the area around Castagneto Carducci, we did a transfer to Monte Amiata in southern Tuscany. Our hotel, Le Macinaie, was located near the top of the ancient volcano, at 1400 meters. The riding around Amiata is amongst the finest I’ve ever seen, pristine countryside, incredible roads with hardly any traffic. In a word, a cyclist’s paradise. If you like to climb that is. After each rolling ride around the provinces of Grosseto and Siena, we would face a grueling 9 km climb back up to the hotel. Jeff and Andy would duke it out on every ascent, leaving Kevin and I to bring up the rear. Our final day’s outing was a mega transfer from Amiata all the way to Florence, over 180 km with a lot of climbing. I recall that we had to stop in Siena to put Kevin on a train to Florence, he was done in. We had to really ride to make it before dusk, the final kilometers into the city we were fighting a setting sun but made it before dark, just before. The following day I boarded a train for home, happy to be off my bike after 8 days of hard riding.

They continue to show up every May but no longer require a guide. Or maybe they’re just taking it easy on me. I join them for a ride or two each year, wondering at their capacity for punishment. I mean, they’re all pretty much 50 year olds, recovery is no longer a theory, it’s something you feel every morning after a hard effort. They always stay a few days at the hotel Zi Martino’s in Castagneto, the famous home to wayward cyclists the world over. This past week the Dutch Women’s National Team was also staying there, they come a few time a year for training camps. As the pain bros. were getting to roll one morning I sat outside the bike garage waiting for them. One by one several of the Dutch women came out to fetch their bikes. One of them knew Jeff and stopped to chat, I think it was Kirsten Wild, it sure looked like her. I was too timid to actually ask her. I did mention that I knew Evelyn Stevens and she said that a team mate of hers was with them, a Dutch woman who rides for Lulu lemon. I asked about Marianne Vos and she replied that Marianne had already rolled out. I think I would have worked up the courage to ask for a photo together with Vos. To my mind she’s one of the greatest racers of all time, male or female. As we cycled out from the rear of the hotel and into the parking lot to turn onto the road and begin our ride, I spotted Vos sitting on the tail gate of the team car. I really wanted to turn around and go over to her but couldn’t work up the nerve. Here she was getting ready for a day’s work and didn’t need some middle aged geek fawning over her. But the next time, I swear I’m getting a photo with her!

I asked the guys where they wanted to ride and they replied, Massa Marittima. Great I said, which route? Monte Bamboli Jeff answered. What? Are you serious? But I knew he was, he needed a full ration of suffering and Monte Bamboli was a sure way to get it. It’s a roller coaster of a road, climbing through green hills with gradients that vary from 12 to 18%, a real test of one’s form. I don’t usually ride Monte Bamboli until I know I’m going well and I never do it the first time in company just in case I have to crawl up. Plus, I was on the Tommasini which has a 39X53 chain ring combo, not exactly my favorite climbing set up. But it wasn’t possible to change his mind so off we went. Turns out I was going better than I thought and got up it just fine. Then my next concern popped into my head, the final descent. There are three parts to the climb with short descents in between followed by an almost vertical drop off the south side towards Massa. It’s only about 4 km long but seriously steep and technical, you must stay on your brakes almost all the time. My worry was the tubular tires I was riding, I don’t like descents like that on tubulars because of over heating and possible glue failure. I once rolled a tubular descending off the Passo Fedaia in a race and had one of the more terrifying moments I’ve experienced on a bike…and didn’t crash. Which was a miracle in itself. But that taught me a lesson, don’t trust glue. However, my glue job held up just fine. I noticed that the valve stem didn’t even budge, which it would if the glue didn’t hold properly.

The Pain Brother, Jeff, Andy and Kevin. Rick stepped out of the frame as I snapped the shot.

I felt even better once back in Campiglia with the boys as I wasn’t that tired. A good sign after a day with those guys. I even did a final ride with them two days later, though only Jeff and Andy showed up. Kevin and Rick stayed back at Zi’s to pack their bikes for the trip home, they’d had enough. The day after, alone, I had the nerve to ride up Monte Bamboli again, I suppose I wanted to see if I’d feel that good again just a few days later. To my surprise I did! And I forgot to worry about glue, another positive. As I climbed up, relishing the sun which was warm but comfortable, I was once again reminded why this time of year is so special here. Nature is running amok, the green hues almost hurt your eyes, flowers are popping up everywhere and their sweet scent is heavy in the air.

Road side flowers, it’s May!

Now that it’s May the touring season has finally arrived. For the next two weeks there will be successive groups of Canadians staying at Fonte di Foiano and I’ll be guiding them. Their spiritual leader, Pete Di Ponio, arrived yesterday a few days a head of the group. Tomorrow if it’s not raining we’ll get in a nice quiet ride on our own, probably our only solo ride before the groups show up. Pete belongs to that rather numerous peleton of riders I wish I could ride with on a regular basis. At least he comes to visit every May, another reason to cherish Spring.

View from the top of Monte Bamboli

Almost May

Dear readers, forgive me, life has become busier and I’m not as often in front of the computer. I suppose I could take the time to learn how to post from my phone. Being technologically challenged that may take some time. Last weekend, generally when I make time to catch up on the blog, we traveled to Rome to visit friends and do what we usually do in Rome; walk all over the place.

Daria & Donatella in Rome last Sunday

The weather cooperated fully and Sunday was perhaps the most stunning day of the year to date. A true day of ‘primavera’ in ancient Roma with families out in force on foot and bicycle. Fortunately many sections of ancient Rome are closed to motor vehicles on Sundays and it’s a treat to enjoy these sights without the noise and smell of urban traffic. I am so in love with Rome that I’ll even put up with her traffic and deprive myself of a weekend’s riding in spring to visit. Without cars however, Rome is superb. There is a part of the city that we particularly enjoy which goes from the old Jewish ghetto near the river, over to Piazza Farnese, Campo dei Fiori, Piazza Navona, the Pantheon and onward past the Parliament and into the fashion district near the Spanish Steps.

Statue of Giordano Bruno, burned at the stake by the Holy Inquisition on this very spot Feb. 17 1600

We have a few favourite stops such as the Cafe Eustachio in Piazza Eustachio near the Pantheon. They make an expresso that has to be experienced, words can’t capture its essence. Near Campo dei Fiori where Giordano Bruno’s haunting statue stands there are numerous clothing stores that sell items not easy to find elsewhere. There is also a ‘forno’, literally oven, that makes dozens of different types of sourdough bread as well as superb pizza sold by weight and consumed standing up just outside their door at overturned wine barrels. Until a few decades ago everyone made bread at home and once a week would take their leavened bread to the local ‘forno’ to be baked. The ‘fornaio’ or oven smith, would take either a few lire or a portion of the bread for his services, which would then be sold. Now a days not many people make bread at home and those that do use their own ovens. Stores that sell bread are frequently still called ‘forno’ though.

Ancient Rome

You can imagine how upset the Catholic Church was when they realized that a statue had been commissioned of Giordano Bruno, the Dominican friar burned at the stake by the same Catholic Church in early 1600. In 1889 the statue was erected in Rome’s Campo dei Fiori square and the Pope threatened to leave Italy unless it was removed. From some unknown well of civil courage and dignity, Rome’s governors found the strength to inform the Pope that they wouldn’t impede his departure. This rebuke caught the church by surprise and the entire matter was quietly allowed to decant. The statue remains, testament to the true dark ages, when clerical dogma could determine the difference between life and death by burning at the stake. For the crime of free thinking. The statue pays homage not only to Bruno but to the hundreds of thousands of innocent victims of clerical tyranny.

Today’s ride was a three and half hour gallop around our neck of the woods, together with Simone Di Gaetano of Fonte di Foiano. As I have twice as many kilometers of training since January I’m able to keep up with him even on climbs despite his age advantage of over twenty years. That state of affairs is destined to change quickly. In two weeks time the first official guiding work of the season will start and the group of Canadians will be staying at Fonte. Simone will than crank up his riding three fold and I’ll return to my rightful position of ‘off the back’ on the climbs. At least with him anyway. Did I mention that Fonte di Foiano recently won 1st prize in a very prestigious international olive oil concourse? Awarded the prize of “Il Magnifico” they beat out top competition from around the Mediterranean basin as well as oil from as far away as Australia.

The terracotta vase that Fonte di Foiano won for 1st place for best olive oil in Italy for the 2012 harvest.

Spring is well and truly here and while not quite hot, the warmer temperatures are inviting plant life to get with it and propagate. Which they’re doing enthusiastically and the pollen count is rising as I write these words with the resulting symptoms of hay fever. This is a time of year I both love and loathe and it will stay this way until the middle of July when the heat finally stops the flowering process for a while. In the meantime a lot of people don’t leave the house without pockets full of tissue for daubing their eyes and blowing their noses. Here’s a perfect example of one of the local culprits. This wisteria is impressive, notice the size of the trunk. Anyone I ask here in Campiglia simply says it’s always been there, even folks who are really old.

Tucked away in a corner, a very ancient Wisteria plant here in Campiglia.

Campiglia has a resident artist named Laura Pesce who works in glass. Her work varies from jewelry to lamps, mirrors, tables and sculptures. We’ve slowly been acquiring pieces of hers ever since moving here. Last week the latest addition was installed and I’m particularly pleased as it was my idea. I had to first convince her of its feasibility and allow her to find the necessary artisans to help her. While this ‘lunetta’ or little moon is unusual for old Tuscan villages people seem to like it so far. But time will tell, departure from tradition isn’t always appreciated. You decide, is it beautiful or not?

Our building’s front door. The glass work is the ‘lunetta’ above the door. The artist’s name is Laura Pesce.

Classic’s Season

I cringed when I noticed how many days have passed since I last posted an entry, ouch. I can use the increasingly nicer weather as an excuse, I’m riding more and longer and that cuts into my free time for writing. Suddenly last weekend it was actually hot, the sun was out and there was no hint of approaching rain, it was almost difficult to believe. Instead of grabbing my bike, together with two friends I’d bumped into in the piazza of Campiglia, we went to the gulf of Baratti nearby to walk the recently renovated trail of the “Cavalleggeri” that cuts around the promontory of Baratti with the first stop being an inlet called Buca delle Fate or Fairie’s Hole. No, I won’t conjecture on the name, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation but until I hear it from a reliable source it will remain unknown to us.

Tip of the island of Elba from the trail

It was stunningly beautiful to walk this freshly cleaned trail looking out over the channel between the mainland and Elba, with the islands of Capraia further north and off in the distance hidden by haze, the French island of Corsica. No one was happier than Spino our dog, he’s an enthusiastic hiker and was ready to walk the rest of the day if necessary. Once we’d covered the distance to Buca delle Fate, about 2.5 kilometers we sat and basked in the sun, admiring the scenery. Spino was unimpressed with scenery, choosing instead to check out other hikers in the hopes that someone might be eating a sandwich and could be tempted to toss him a bite. He is a gifted moocher but on this day he struck out.

Buca delle Fate from above, on the trail

Spino however had given us the impetus to make our way back to Campiglia and lunch so we headed up the trail through the woods to complete the loop back to the parking lot. These woods are dotted with Etruscan tombs, or more accurately, Villanovian tombs, a tribe that pre-dates the Etruscans. So we are talking about over three thousand years ago. The tombs in this forest are simply there, long ago pillaged, they no longer hold any artifacts and aren’t protected or sealed.

An Etruscan statue, the sort of artifact looted from tombs. This is on exhibit in the British Museum in London

Before going any further I have to comment on Paris/Roubaix. Though it’s almost impossible for me to choose a race I can say is my favorite, this one comes close. I think it’s the almost superhuman effort to just finish it that works its way into your imagination, this race is a throwback to what cycle racing was like a century ago. Obviously many things have changed since then but watching these guys hammer over those unforgiving cobbles is amazing.
This year the American prodigy, Taylor Phinney, was racing with more than the simple desire to finish. Two time winner of the Under 23 version of the race, this would be his second assault on the full Roubaix. Last year even after having worked all day for his captains, he still managed to finish 15th (I believe) and with Alessandro Ballan out recovering from a bad crash and Thor Hushvod still not at his best, Taylor was a logical go-to guy for his team. When I turned on the computer to watch the coverage I was greeted by the spectacle of Taylor on the front, leading the group through the Arenberg Forest, seemingly floating over the rough cobbles he looked like he was on a super day. As the race progressed and one after another of the cobbled sections was counted down, I could still spot his BMC jersey fighting to stay with the front runners. But then the fireworks began and the pace picked up as the top guns began their battle for supremacy. TV coverage is always a bit spotty at Paris/Roubaix, the commentators don’t always know which group they’re looking at if it’s not the front runners and it’s really easy to become confused.

Taylor in the Arenberg Forest

As the cameras switched from one group to the next I became aware that I was no longer able to spot Taylor and there was no word on what had happened to him. Assuming he’d had a mechanical, I watched as Fabian Cancellara lived up to the pre-race prognostications, riding everyone except a few guys off his wheel. His accelerations to close gaps prior to his final attack were simply astounding. He knew it was up to him and he shouldered his burden and got on with it. Fittingly he won the sprint, taking first place from Sep Vanmarcke by half a wheel. Taylor it turns out had simply run out of top-end speed and came in 23rd at 3’13″. Though disappointed, he knows he’ll have his moment. It’s a matter of time.

Another stretch of cobbles, Taylor is lying 3rd wheel here. Photo credits for P/R are G. Watson.

Mentors, the rest of the story…

Cathy and Stu and Dr. Dan helped preserve my sanity the last couple of years I lived in Brooklyn before moving to Italy. As I began to feel more and more like the City and I were no longer on speaking terms, my friendship with these three riders really made a difference in my quality of life. Besides their invaluable friendship, they also offered me the chance to get out of Brooklyn and ride.

Dan was one of the few riders from Prospect Park in Brooklyn who would accompany me on my forays into New York State as well as New Jersey. Frequently we would ride out of the City both Saturday and Sunday doing huge rides, usually over 100 miles each day. Besides being an expert rider who knew all the finer points of cycling, Dan was a great story teller and could spin out a tale and make it last for hours and hours. In a word, he was the perfect companion on long rides. I knew I was learning without having to talk about it. Cycling, for all its obvious traits, is actually a sport full of subtleties and I could tell that Dan knew most of them. On those long gallops over hill and dale I was soaking up not only Dan’s adventurous stories, of which there were many, I was also watching and observing. Though Dan had raced at a high level he had no need to show his strength by making me suffer or doing all those annoying things that experienced, stronger riders can do to novices. He brought me along gradually and before another season rolled around, I was almost matching him pedal stroke for pedal stroke. He wasn’t having to tow me around as much, I was able to contribute to the work load too. On one memorable ride up to Bear Mountain, well over 100 miles round trip, I ran out of energy dramatically. I can still remember how Dan nursed me back to NYC, alternating long stories with stints on the front pulling me along, literally for hours. These long rides developed a special friendship between us, our adventurous jaunts out of New York City became a tradition and we kept on doing them right up till the weeks before I moved to Italy in 1992. Though we’ve stayed in touch, via snail mail before internet, we have as yet been unable to meet up here in Italy. There has always been the plan to meet here and ride before we are all too old but so far it hasn’t quite happened.

Dan Harris with his Titanium Merlin

Cathy and Stu owned an old farm house in the Catskill mountains and it wasn’t long before I was invited up to ride with them there. Once, ever the glutton for long rides, I left the City on my Masi traveling by train to the outer reaches of Westchester County and then by bike the rest of the way. Once at their home in the Catskills we would spend every day riding one long climb after another, trying but never succeeding to stay with Cathy who was a climbing wonder. The joke was that Stu and I would take turns burying ourselves to remain with her for at least a portion of a climb just to see whether or not she was actually breathing hard. Though she never really raced, she possessed a true talent, especially on climbs and was equally fast going down hill. She could hang with the toughest category ones and two riders in Prospect Park on training rides, driving them to distraction as they were unable to shake this woman who was then in her late 30′s.

Their son Devon went on to become a cycling talent in his own right, being a member of the national team on both the road and track. He graduated from Stanford where he studied on a full cycling scholarship. Cathy, Stu and Dev have all been here to Tuscany to visit and Dev even made a repeat trip on his own just a few years ago. I impressed myself by being able to hang with him on a 90 km ride in the hills. In all honesty I have to add that he hadn’t trained in months and was on a borrowed bike.

Of all the friends I left behind in Brooklyn these are the people I missed the most. On those rare occasions when we’re together it’s as though a week hadn’t passed since the last time we’d been laughing and riding together.

The Four Musketeers: Cathy, Stu, Dan & me circa 1996

Eddie Albert and I actually became closer after I was in Italy than we had been when I was in Brooklyn. He came to Europe with his wife Brenda in 1995 and after spending a week following the Tour de France with Brenda, put her on a plane home and met me in the French Alps for a road race. I had come up from Italy with a group of guys I raced and trained with to compete in the “Louison Bobet” Gran Fondo. I remember that as being one of the most beautiful days I’ve ever spent on a bike. We climbed the Galibier twice, once from each side, as well as the Col d’Izoard and the Lauteret. It was, as they say, an epic day and while I wasn’t able to stay with Eddie for very long during the race, we had a great time driving back to Italy together and then riding on the roads around Perugia where I was then living. Since then he’s been to Italy numerous times and we always manage to hook up, we’ve ridden the Eroica together three times and though he says he won’t do it again, I think he will.

Since I’ve moved to Italy Eddie has become one of North America’s premiere antique bike experts and collectors. In a small way I like to think I had something to do with that. He owned an old Masi that when I saw it, was reduced to a rusting hulk after years of service on his indoor trainer. He saw my Masi during a trip to Tuscany that had been restored by Joe Bell and was inspired to do something with his Masi and that got him started. The photo of him with Irio Tommasini was in fact taken during a trip to the factory while on a bike tour with me in 2006. Irio is pouring over a stack of glossy photos of Eddie’s impressive collection that he’d brought with him. If I hadn’t pulled Eddie out of there the two of them would still be there to this day, talking about period bikes and racers. Like Eddie, Irio has a bottomless passion for old bikes and can spend hours if not days talking about them and their finer points.

I also must mention another endeavor that Eddie and I were involved in together. Long before internet we would write each other and many of those letters were about races, racers and the whole bike scene in Europe in general. Once I got my first computer, in 1997, that type of correspondence increased ten-fold. Eddie found some investors and launched the idea of creating an internet site devoted to races and cyclists with me as the main correspondent. That site, called oddly enough “Cycle Gossip” lasted for four seasons and was an early competitor of CyclingNews. We were even the first internet site to have same day photos of the top races thanks to an Italian photographer named Emanuele Sirotti who’s byline you can still see on racing oriented sites. That time was a lot of fun, I wrote so much I almost managed to teach myself the art of the written word. Eddie, bless his heart, was the editor and was forever chasing after me to make a deadline or simply post something. I would be stretched to my limits, usually guiding a bike tour and trying to find an internet caffe after the day’s ride where I could get on a computer with internet access in order to post a story. Those years brought me even deeper into this magical world cycling and for a spell I was on the inside, the side of the crowd barriers all of us want to be on. Without Eddie that wouldn’t have happened.

True to his endless passion for races, as I write this he and Brenda are in Belgium where they’ve been for the past seven days, enjoying ‘Holy Week’ as it’s called up there. He’ll have followed both the Tour of Flanders last Sunday and now, Paris-Roubaix. For sure he’s brought a bike with him and is out there on the cobbles, probably participating in local group rides.

Early Influences

Like a lot of people who bought a racing bike on a whim, I had no idea what I was getting myself into back in the late fall of 1985. I had run one too many marathons in a short time span and was unable to run anymore. I was looking around, almost desperately, for an alternative for my endorphin fix. Living in Brooklyn, NY there were limited choices, swimming was out, I’d competed as a swimmer and couldn’t stand the sight of a pool. Cross country skiing wasn’t really possible and getting a bike seemed to make sense. My budget didn’t allow for anything Italian which would have been my first choice, so I settled on a Univega. I think it cost me 500 dollars. I found out later that it was too big, at 62 cm high it was a full 2 cm larger than I needed but I only discovered that after I began learning about being a cyclist.

Fortunately I lived just off of Prospect Park in Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood. I had used the park for years as my training ground when I was a runner, now it would become my daily route after work on the bike. I already knew that there was a vibrant rider’s community in the park, almost all racers or aspiring racers. As well as a few rank beginners like me. It didn’t take long to realize though, that I had a lot to learn, being a cyclist was far more involved than I could have imagined. Watching the experienced riders from afar, I was too intimidated to jump into any pace lines for fear of screwing up, of not being able to handle myself or my gangly bike. For long months I would ride on my own in the park during the week, on weekends I would ride out of New York City armed with a map, exploring, discovering my limits on a bike. Being a marathoner, my fitness transferred well to the bike but as all new cyclists discover, there is still a learning curve to be respected.

As the winter months advanced, I bought a few warmer items of clothing (wool, that’s all there was back then) and continued to ride after work, in the dark. I can still remember when, for the first time, I was invited to join a group of riders, regulars in the park. It was a weekday evening, leaves littered the bike path, street lights threw long shadows as I rode lap after lap, solo. Suddenly out of the gloom I realized I had ridden up on a group of cyclists, too late to slow down, I was on them. I freewheeled, waiting for a gap to open so I could continue on my own, too shy to risk introducing myself and join them. Then one of the riders slowed in turn and slid up next to me and asked if they had done something wrong. Why, he wanted to know, did I ride every night always on my own? I must have stammered out some sort of excuse and he simply stated that I should ride with them, the miles passed quicker in company. That was all it took.

I too became a regular, started racing, rode every free minute. If running had been an obsession, cycling was a religion. It became an all consuming passion, I was possessed. It didn’t take long to make a lot acquaintances, some of whom became friends and training partners. On weekdays when I wasn’t working I would spend hours and hours riding in the park, talking endlessly with the other riders. Being New York, there were plenty of cyclists who worked odd hours and trained mainly in the mornings. These folks I realized, were the most interesting people in the park to ride with. The group I bonded with consisted of about ten people, including Michael Haddad with whom I rode this past edition of the Eroica. Of that group, four became close friends that I would see even off the bike. Those cyclists became my mentors, the people who taught me the finer points of being a rider.

Two of them were a couple, Cathy and Stu, a few years older than me, they also had a young son named Devon. Ex folk singers, they made their living singing commercials on local TV and radio out of a sound studio in their house. Often they rode in shifts depending on if they had a babysitter or if Dev was in nursery school. The other guy was Dr. Dan as everyone called him, a musician and sound engineer, he was an old racer about 10 or 12 years my senior and really knew cycling. He was also known as a grump but he and I hit it off really well right from the get go. The fourth mentor was a serious competitive Cat II racer of some repute, Eddie. It took longer to get to know him, but eventually we became close friends. I recall that our political outlook had many points in common which helped cement our relationship. On more than one occasion I would be the only other rider to take his side during the frequent political arguments that could suddenly flare up during a training ride. Eddie and I were both unrepentant progressives, compared with the large number of died-in-the-wool conservatives that reigned in the park in those years. As it turned out, my relationship with Eddie would span decades and continents and continues to this day. We are both just as consumed by and in love with bikes and riding as we were back in the mid 80′s.
In the photo; Irio Tommasini, me and Eddie. A shot from a couple of years ago in Grosseto.

Up next; more tales from the early years…

Spring is here, today’s ride.

After what seems like weeks and weeks of rain and cold weather, finally we’re getting a respite here in Tuscany.

Sassetta in the sun

Though it did rain all day yesterday, after a sunny Tuesday, today the sun was out again, the skies having been cleaned by a stiff north wind. I didn’t waste any time deciding what to do, I got changed and hit the roads, almost giddy with joy, wearing fewer clothes on the bike than I have in months. No shoe covers, no winter hat, light weight gloves and one layer under a jacket. I did have leg warmers under my shorts though, those won’t come off until it’s warm for real.

On the road to Castagneto Carducci I ran into the Rabobank’s women’s team riding in double formation but was unable to get a photo of them, it happened too fast. I felt positively over dressed after looking at them, most of them in shorts, arm warmers and vests. But it’s still chilly to me, they’re used to the colder temperatures of northern Europe, this must feel like full on Spring to them. Their men’s squad is now called ‘Blanco’ after the latest doping scandals that shook the team. They initially pulled the plug on the women’s team too but changed their minds after it was pointed out that none of the women had been involved in the scandals. And they do have one of the greatest bike racers of all time on their roster, Marianne Vos.

The road to Castagneto Carducci

For years the Rabobank team has been doing training camps at a local hotel known around the world for its ties to cycling, Zi Martino’s. Many pro teams have stayed there in the past decade and a half and still do, while hundreds of N. Americans, Brits and Aussies know them through cycle tours that use the hotel as a base. During the recent Tirreno-Adriatico race the hotel was full for days, team trucks, cars and buses filling their parking lot totally. This area is justly famous for its cycling friendly roads, beautiful countryside and welcoming hotels. I’m privileged to live here, for a cyclist it’s hard to beat.

I have a default training route when I don’t really have enough time for a long ride but want some climbing and good roads. I start out by goin down to the main artery, Via Aurelia, (the old Roman road) which, while only two lanes, is a bit busier than I like. But the traffic is light on weekdays this time of year, it’s worse in the summer. Once up to Donoratico I turn off towards Castagneto and the climb up to Sassetta and the incredibly winding road that twists and turns through the forest over to Suvereto. From there it’s out on the plains and back over to ‘my’ climb up to our village of Campiglia.

Freshly pruned olive tree

Everyone with olive tress is intent on finishing the yearly pruning before the trees start to bud, then it’s too late and you can no longer prune or risk damaging them. Sadly, many old groves are being abandoned, the people who once tended them lovingly have either died or become too old for such demanding work and young Italians are losing many of their traditions.

Tonight, with a hearty appetite from the ride and light lunch, I decided to make pasta with ‘cime di rape’ and sausage. I should know the translation of this dish in English but unfortunately I don’t. After chopping the greens and cooking them for about ten minutes in the pasta water (before putting in the pasta) I drain the greens and put them into a wok where generous amounts of garlic have been sautéing together with the sausage that has been cut into pieces after removing the casing. Once you cook the pasta, drain it and using a dipper of the same water, cook it the final minutes all together before serving. I like to pour the exquisite hot pepper oil that Fone di Foiano makes all over it once it’s in my dish.

Cime di rape, the wine isn’t mine. Don’t worry.