I'll be honest I ride for pleasure, good manners dictate that I don't inconvenience my riding buddies by keeping them hanging around longer than necessary so I try to go as quickly as I can when out "training". So what you'll read is not a racer's account of a Grand Fondo it's the account of someone who'll have a go just to admire the scenery.
Arrival
Well it was Ryanair to beautiful Bergamo on Fri night to ride the Grand/Medio Fondo Felice Gimondi. Nine of us from De Ver. Bikes arrived intact but as usual the cases took a battering. A short bus ride to the Jolly Hotel, it lived up to its name with friendly and helpful staff, we were allowed to keep our bikes in our rooms. A very late night microwaved meal @ The Irish Pub, would you believe it, took care of evening calories, the Italian restaurants had closed or were closing.
Registration
On Saturday after an excellent breakfast we shopped for essentials like CO2 canisters that we had not been sure we were allowed to bring on the flight. Those for whom sleep had been a priority then assembled their bikes. Dressed in our colours we took to the streets for a short ride to the stadium where we registered receiving an enthusiastic welcome from our hosts. This
was partly because we were accompanied by De Ver Cycles celebrity cyclist Dexter Stewart as featured in the event magazine for the Grand Fondo as a "Face of the Gimondi". We collected our numbers and goody bags then paid for our timing chips, we would be refunded 10 euros upon handing them in. On returning to the hotel Philippe and myself opted to play tourist while the rest took a ride. We all had the same destination, the Citta Alta or upper City, a charming medieval walled city on a hill overlooking the newer Citta Basta below. It truly is a remarkably beautiful sight and was well worth the walk up steep cobbled lanes to the top of the city walls. When you get to the top you are rewarded with a panoramic view of the surrounding area with the Italian Alps to the north and the Lombardy plain to the south. We took a wander around taking time to view the cathedral and its sumptuous interior decoration, a look around the local secondary school housed in a classical building with a tremendous view and other fine examples of architecture. An elderly citizen took time out from her afternoon walk to exclaim “Il Uommo Negro” and other Italian expressions on catching sight of me. All of the monologue was delivered in a firm voice supported by an appropriately erect posture and was directed @ Philippe as it was clear that beyond being called a black man I had no idea what she was on about. I asked Philippe what she was saying as she sounded condescendingly rude, he confirmed my belief. His summary translation mentioned her fear of the black man and beyond that he was too polite to say. The grand dame concluded her speech by rubbing my stubbled head and cheek before proceeding on her way. My colour remained in place. We lunched then took the stairs to the streets below and pausing for ice cream and presents returned to the hotel.
Seafood Sauce
Dinner was the full four courses for most of us with no alcohol. Marcell was very surprised when his spaghetti with seafood sauce included two very whole and large langoustines looking at him from atop the spaghetti. There was no doubt that he had seafood in his sauce.
Riding
Sunday Morning and its time for Church
The hotel laid on breakfast @ 05:30 they included pasta along with the usual fare. By 06:15 we were on our way to the start. Lined up in our section that was assigned according to our numbers we edged forward whilst waiting for the klaxon. @ 07:00 the klaxon sounded.
Service has begun
It was a rolling start and immediately the pace was hot as people jockeyed for position in the race to the front. The sensible thing was to go with the flow keeping a wary eye out for changes of direction and bottlenecks, already bottles and mobile phones were bouncing out of cages and pockets. We left the city on a highway and literally headed for the hills. Like the pros down in Sicily for the Giro we owned the road, Carabineri and marshals clearing our way. I was riding my own ride with the aim of getting inside 6 hrs if possible 6.5 @ worst. The climbing began immediately we were out of the Bergamo, first up was the Colle del Pasta averaging 3.7% with a max of 5-6%, 140m high and 3.8km long. Over the top and down descending on a good road and keeping the pace up with some inspired” wheel sucking” jumping from group to group when the chance presented itself. This was on a long drag up to the foot of the next climb the Colle del Gallo and the benefits of wheel sucking had put my average up to 20mph, I knew it was going to come down considerably as I went up.
At the Altar
Having sung the hymns worshippers at the Church of the Blacktop were now participating in full service on the Colle del Gallo 426m high, 7.5km long averaging 5.5% with a max of 8%. The backdrop was green wooded hills with houses perched on the slopes and the road rising, sloping ramps stacked one above the other all the way up. This gave a great view of the riders ahead as they disappeared and reappeared above. I was working hard despite my cyclo-tourist tendency and enjoying it whilst keeping my eye on my cadence to ensure no slacking or grinding. I intended to hit my target, warm sunshine and beautiful scenery were an encouragement, I was having a ball. Scottie was on the move to paraphrase Mr. Shakademus of Jamaica. “It soon be done, all me trouble and trials, when I get over on the other side etc.” then it would begin again. In the meantime the views were great and I was passing people on the way up. A brief stop for a banana and it was over the top and down the “Discesa Pericolosa” (perilous descent) as was kindly pointed out by the organisers. I made it with my average speed now only showing 15.5 mph due to a lack of heroic descending skills and headed up to the high point of the day.
Service continued on the road to Selvino, 653m high averaging 5.9% over 11 km with a max of 8.2%. The sun was shining brightly enough and it was a lovely road with fresh tarmac and an open vista. Joy was unconfined, peace descended upon me, beauty surrounded me and I was feeling optimistic. What a great day!! So a little messing about with the gears brought the right combination of speed and effort. I figured that if I managed an average between 13-14 mph all would be well so onwards and upwards though I wanted to stop and take pictures. Sweet riding!
Another banana stop at the top and downhill on my second "Discesa Pericolosa" to Ambria where on seeing the split for the short route I firmly withstood temptation and headed on towards San Pelligrino of bottled water fame.
Down in the Valley
There was the obligatory rushing river and I rode along with a formidable escarpment in view that had a cloud sitting on top of it. I couldn’t see anything resembling a road on it and counted my blessings thinking I don’t have to go up there. The route took a stretch along a main road then a turn off onto a mountain road that was rising but offering little resistance. Down the road I turned a corner and was the only thing moving in a monumental gorge. I was truly amongst the rock of ages riding between it and under it along the "Strada del Taleggio". The sun was hidden in an overcast sky and I was pushing hard doing penance for irregular devotion and trying to keep up the average speed. I was en route to the Forcella di Burra 617m high along 20km of road averaging 3.3% with max 7%. For many a long minute I wondered if I had taken a wrong turn then as I approached a tunnel I saw a figure in pink ahead of me. Eager for company I began a steady pursuit satisfactorily reeling him in; when I made the catch he looked like he was in purgatory so leaving him to the mercy of his god I pushed on. Out of the tunnel the gorge opened up and the river was back in view the road was turning ahead so I guessed I was on the way up again. My margin was thin so I had to keep working I hit the turn and saw a photographer waiting to capture my suffering so pedalled harder whilst maintaining an air of sang froid. With poker face intact I passed the photographer and carried on up to another turn where I saw another rider whom I again pursued and passed, I wasn’t doing too badly. My legs weren’t dead but subdued by the gloom I was just hauling a**. This went on for ages; I saw and caught a pair in conversation with each other as I passed them. The road started to go properly up and the pair rode past me drawing an immediate response as I upped the work rate and went back ahead. It was getting darker and cooler as I headed up to Sottochiesa. As I came within sight of the village I felt it, the cold raindrops I had been dreading as I was indeed on the aforementioned escarpment and the cloud had waited for my arrival. The heavens opened up and a serious downpour commenced, all riders present headed for the awnings in front of closed shops and watched our fellow cyclists come up the road and head for shelter also. I waited, it rained, I waited, it rained, I got cold, it rained a little less, and then it rained a little more.
Am I rubbish?
I hate cold water except for drinking. I will not voluntarily enter any body of open water north of the Gulf of Mexico. There is a reason why I haven’t done a ride in Wales or up north. I hated the thought of getting wet and colder going up a mountain, then getting even colder on a long descent down a wet road. If I had to I would have but I didn’t have to. Philippe who I had passed very early on as he was replacing his second exploding “Specialized” inner tube had also arrived in the pouring rain.
(Technical tip: Make sure that your tube isn't caught under the tyre bead by squeezing tyre all round into the centre of the rim before inflating and riding)
We went into the local bar for a cappuccino. In anticipation of a miserable end to my day I obtained a bin liner from our hostess and improvised a race cape. A young man followed this example. On noticing my De Ver Cycles London jersey he had said “Ryanair!” then pointed at himself and said “Ryanair Barcelona!”. Our attire raised a laugh amongst the Italians. Stepping outside I couldn’t ride on without checking the timetable at the local bus stop as I seriously considered removing my wheels and taking them on the bus. A couple of the Italians and Ryanair Barcelona came out and pointed towards the way we had come saying they were taking the easy route back to Bergamo. As luck would have it a van arrived offering rides, it was the broom wagon and would have been a dreadful sight on a sunny day but not at that moment. Philippe and I voluntarily climbed aboard with our bikes and were soon joined by Patrick from Wicklow in Ireland. There we were sitting in darkness in the back of a transit van in the Italian Alps, a Guyanese, a Swiss and an Irishman; you couldn’t make it up. The van moved off and after a while it stopped and Ivan (an Italian) and three more bikes joined us in the back. The three of us, Ivan couldn’t speak a word of English, had a laugh our humour being heightened by our ridiculous circumstance. Patrick told us about the Wicklow 100 which he recommended as a good ride. Patrick commented that he felt honour bound to return to his wife and kids in a fit state to meet the mortgage payments but wondered how he should deal with the vehicular assistance. I in turn recommended that he drank wine when he rejoined his mates taking note that when riding in the van no longer mattered and he had a grin on his face he would have had enough.
Finishing on the Bike
After a long drive, we assumed that the driver had been looking for other lost souls; the van stopped and decanted us in Brembilla. It was dry, the sunshine was back and in front of us was sign saying Bergamo 20. We had been brought to the foot of the Forcella di Bura and put back on the road, our numbers being removed from our bikes. We pedalled off down the autostrada SS472 and we were passed on the way by a couple of motorcyclists on trail bikes who had also sheltered from the rain in the bar in Sottochiesa, guess what they were wearing? Yep, black bin liners as rain capes!
In Bergamo we were greeted with cheers as we crossed the finish line taking our medals on the move. It was a bittersweet moment but I’ll be going back next year cos before the rain I’d had a helluva ride in a beautiful place and met some charming people.
Needless to say the serious riders amongst the De Ver contingent {Lloyd,Stan,Nick,Steve and Dexter} all finished their centuries in under 7 Hrs. Marcell and "Tigger" aka (the irrepresible) Franco finished the Medio in under 6 hrs. Philippe and I got credited with 7hrs+ for the Corto. We had in fact ridden about 68 miles or done a Corto Medio and we finished sprinting!!!
Performance of the day goes to Stan for placing 33rd in his category and he's a pretty decent room mate too.
8 6:20:22.59 C 156 WELLS NICK 3887 M ITA DE VER CYCLES
889 6:20:22.93 G 33 MACIAK STANISLAW 3882 M GBR DE VER CYCLES
890 6:20:23.06 F 79 STEWART DEXTER 3881 M GBR DE VER CYCLES
984 6:28:47.15 F 94 LLOYD BAIR 3884 M GBR DE VER CYCLES
963 5:29:22.69 A 62 CRAWFORD FRANCO 3888 M ITA DE VER CYCLES
1083 5:44:22.14 E 194 ANDERSON MARCELL 3886 M GBR DE VER CYCLES
935 7:13:36.26 E 146 SCOTT HUGH 3889 M ITA DE VER CYCLES
936 7:13:36.33 C 152 ARMBRUSTER PHILIPPE 3885 M GBR DE VER CYCLES
Hugh