Food of the day: Red wine. We took a small bottle - lovely how you can buy these in supermarkets in Italy - up to our picnic to watch the Giro. Screwtops are rare in Italy, so the corkscrew it was. Marcus now has several deep red spots on this favourite cycling jersey to remind him of his day at the Giro!
Word of the day: Andiamo - let's go. Such an optimistic, inviting word! The sense of anticipation it invokes. I love it.
Funny how things don't work out as planned, but can work out even better if you keep an open mind. This whole adventure was inspired by staying up late in the cold winter last year to watch web streaming of the Giro d'Italia. It was a magnificent event: all kinds of weather and scenery, from flat beachside parades to the highest of the Italian alps; glorious sunny days riding channels cut through snow; the tifosi (fans) clamouring for their heroes and encouraging every rider from the first to the last; a brutal rainy day on dirt roads when the hard men came out, and Cadel Evans proved himself a worthy world champion by taking and maintaining the lead along the cobbles of the final ascent; and finally, the demise of the still valiant Evans on the Zoncolan at the combined hand of Basso and Nibali. What a drama! So I decided that I had to go and watch it for myself.
When we got here it became evident that it's not that simple. Off the autostrada, getting around can be quite slow. Not only that, but there have been so many other interesting things! So in the end, we decided on just two days of the Giro, and even those not the big days. We set off at about lunch after a walking tour of Bellagio (more about that later), heading in the direction of Bergamo and thence up to the day's major climb, Passo di Ganda. We'd picked a road that ascended the back of the mountain, thinking to avoid traffic and road closures. This promised to be a drive of about two hours - I had rejected the 15 minute option of watching the peleton flying along the flat nearby roads, preferring instead the promise of a real fight up the climb.
Near Bergamo, it got a bit confusing for a while and we accidentally took the slow road to the valley. This turned out better than expected, as it was the Giro route. For about 20 km we followed the route. It was festooned with pink banners, Italian flags and ribbons. All the way, hundreds of fluoro vest men and carabinieri were getting ready to block the roads. They had little paddle pop stick signs, like the people at airports that flag plans into dock, and were using them to direct people at intersections. Although we thought that we were at least an hour ahead of the race, many side roads were already closed, and quite a few fans were gathered. For a while we only managed about 30-40kmh - not enough, since the peleton could be expected to be quicker than that. The prospect of messing the cutoff loomed - that plus the general sense of being part of the whole process made it an exciting drive!
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Well we did make it to the beginning of the mountain. After winding through yet another group of narrow, cobbled lanes, we started rising. Hundreds of cyclists had the same idea, and we passed them slowly through curve after curve. About 4k before the top we reached the town of Aviatico, set prettily near the top of a steep slop with views of many valleys to the north, including the town of San Pellegrino Terme, where the race would end. At this point the police had closed the road to cars. We could either ride the rest of the way or join the crowd in Aviatico, and chose the latter. This was a great place to wait, eating our lunch on the grass with all the other excited fans, while admiring the distant valleys and peaks.
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Eventually, the race's imminent arrival was heralded by the first vehicles - dozens of promotional vans selling Giro merchandise packs. They drive along holding the packs out the window and stop for anyone who wants one - like ice cream vans. After a while the police started shooing them on, a sign that the real action would soon start. Then followed about 50 team and official cars and then the quiet before the storm. It is a bit like waiting for a storm - you hear the helicopters before the riders arrive, and when they do, it sizzles like rain on a hot road - hissing and whirring, the wind of the rushing bunch, the flash of bright colours.
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The first sign of the impact of the climb was the distance between the approaching copters - meaning that there must be a breakaway. Sure enough, three riders came around the corner and flew by, urged on by the fans, leaning in, shouting and gesticulating. Then quite a long break before a few small groups of two, three or even single riders. Finally, a bunch arrived, including the race leader Contador. I had no idea who the dozen or so riders preceding that bunch were, but Contador's presence behind them was a sure sign that they were not a threat to his position. Then various other stragglers and two more bunches. All up there seemed to be about 10 minutes from head to tail.
The three leaders maintained their position for the final 25 kilometres and the green Liquigas rider, Eros Capecchi, achieved his first stage win with a clever tactical victory of the more renowned Marco Pinotti and the Dutchman Kevin Seeldraeyers.
Afterwards, Anne and I rode along the course for bit. It followed the ridge and the road was freshly laid for the race. We pulled in at a crowded bar and watched the finish. I asked a man who the riders were but we couldn't understand each other. Something in his accent gave him away so I asked whether he spoke German, which he did, and we had a lot more success that way. I think the crowd was disappointed that Pinotti did not win, as he is a local rider, and the bar emptied very quickly after the denouement.